Mega Man Recut Origins: The Red Bomber
by BlackRussian
Summary: So how did Proto Man go from being a simple lab bot in Dr. Light's lab to Wily's most dangerous criminal robot fighter? Alternate origin story for Ruby-Spears Proto Man, prequel to "Mega Man Recut."
1. Prologue: Proto

**Prologue: Proto**

 **September 28, 1993 — Day 1**

After months of hard, tireless work focused on one sole project that explored the boundlessness and harmony of human nature and science, Dr. Light was finished. All the preliminary software testing had been completed, every last component carefully wired in a complex system with no match like it on earth. All that was left to do was to activate his creation in a safe, controlled environment.

On a lab table lay what looked like a young man, his eyes closed. He was dressed to match the changing season in jeans, sneakers, and a sweater, his neatly combed hair a shade of chestnut brown that Dr. Light thought would suit him. From all outward appearances, he was indistinguishable from a human.

Dr. Light gazed at him for a moment longer in happy pride, then clicked a button on the pocket sized remote he kept in his pocket, activating for the first time his Prototype Android of Advanced Artificial Self-Determination.

The prototype's amber eyes slid open, the pupils dilating as his optic sensors calibrated, his chest rising and falling softly with his first breaths of air as his circuitry powered on for the first time. He sat up, his eyes focusing on Dr. Light.

"Hi…" the prototype trailed off, looking Dr. Light over.

Dr. Light smiled warmly. "I'm Dr. Light. I built you."

The prototype studied him for half a second. "You're an inventor?"

"Yes, that's right. I specialize in robots."

The prototype slid off the work table to the floor. He took the entire room in with one sweeping scan, spared his reflection an incurious glance in the wall-mounted full length mirror, then looked towards the laboratory's exit to the front yard.

"What's that?" he said, taking a step toward the door.

Dr. Light stopped the prototype by grabbing him gently by the shoulder. His smile broadened in amusement. "Wait, you can't go out there right now."

"Where does it go?"

"Outside, but you're not ready to leave the lab yet."

"But what's out there?" the prototype persisted.

"A whole wide world, but there's much to do here first. Come back, and I'll explain."

The prototype looked back at the door, but allowed himself to be lead back into the center of the laboratory.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Light asked as the prototype sat back on the table.

The prototype shrugged. "Great. Not that I have much to go on."

"I'm glad to hear it. You are designed with the built in intelligence and emotional aptitude of a twenty-year-old human. That is the age I feel when a human begins to become truly independent, authors of their own actions, to change their own character creatively by deciding for themselves what they shall do or shall become. _Self-Determination_. Do you understand?"

"I guess so."

"But you are also programmed with conscience, or the ability to distinguish right and wrong, and compassion, a desire to help others."

"Uh…sounds good."

"I know how new all of this must be for you. …What are you thinking?"

"Not much. Seems…cool."

Dr. Light noted how the prototype was scanning vocabulary databases for the first time and choosing words.

"But…" the prototype hesitated again, as though not sure how to word what he was about say next. "Being a _robot_ , I also have abilities humans don't, like super strength, speed, and endurance. I can speak, like, hundreds of languages and learn how to operate most machines just by looking at them—"

"Yes, but that's not what makes you special, your human emotions set you apart from all other robots."

The prototype took another long pause to think about this. "I dunno, Dr. Light. That seems all kinda…out there. I don't know if I get the human stuff."

Dr. Light, who had been strongly reminded of his the university students he taught as he observed the prototype's behavior and way of talking, smiled. "You're more human than you know."

"Great. So…" The prototype kicked his heels against the lab table, "…Now what?"

"Well…first, I must run tests."

"Why, is something wrong with me?"

"I have no reason to suspect anything is wrong with you, this is just procedure, best practices if you will."

"Oh. Do you think you did a bad job when you built me?"

"No," Dr. Light quickly, "But one can never be too careful. You see, you're an experiment. I never created anything like you before."

The prototype gave him a reassuring smile, one that Dr. Light would soon become familiar with. "I don't think anything is wrong, so don't worry."

"I'm not worried. This sort of safety measure is normal, especially with a prototype. Humans do similar when we see our doctors, especially ones who have just been born."

The prototype visibly cringed slightly at this comparison. "Are you trying to say I'm like a baby?"

"No, I'm saying you're new, and impressionable. This won't take too long."

The prototype laid back down and waited quietly as Dr. Light ran some post activation tests specific for the new creation, his eyes darting around the tall, vaulted laboratory ceiling and its convex windows. All of the diagnostic passed with flying colors. After the tests had been finished, Dr. Light thanked the prototype for being patient and told him they were finished with testing for the day.

"I know, it's a lot to take in," Dr. Light apologized, "But you're doing well."

"Thanks…I guess. I kinda feel like I'm doing nothing so far."

"Let me show you the rest of the laboratory, where you'll spend most of your time for the upcoming months."

Dr. Light took the prototype on a tour of the laboratory and showed him all the projects he was working on. The prototype gave each new room the same quick glance the laboratory. He didn't have many questions, but listened and absorbed everything, often trying to complete Dr. Light's sentences. But Dr. Light was most impressed by the prototype's delightful, friendly temperament.

"—And this area is used for relaxing," said Dr. Light as they walked through the living room. "I like a good book when I am not caught up working late, but there is also a T.V.," he said, switching on a large CRT set. "There are many programs on the cable network, but I also have many educational movies—"

But as Dr. Light explained the television, the prototype was already flipping through channels quickly from footage of a football game to a gum commercial to a Girls in Pink music video to a rude cartoon to a sitcom filmed on a three-wall set with a canned laugh track.

"I don't think it's the best way to learn about our world," Dr. Light admitted somberly, casting the T.V. a disapproving look.

"Not unless the world is really small," said the prototype.

Dr. Light chuckled. "That's a very funny joke."

The prototype looked back at Dr. Light and arched an eyebrow at him. "…Was it?"

"Yes. You're already learning how to make witticism in your conversation."

"Mm. Got it."

"I only watch the T.V. to keep up with news," added Dr. Light, turning the T.V. off again. "Here, let me show you something with much higher value than a T.V."

Dr. Light lead the prototype back to the lab to show him the C.D. player he often listened to while working. As he pressed play, a recording of _Für Elise_ began reverberating around the circular walls of the laboratory.

"This is music, one of the most timeless and cherished forms of art. I find listening to classic music helps relax the mind and leads to better thinking. This particular piece is one of the best known compositions from from Ludwig van Beethoven, my favorite composer."

Dr. Light closed his eyes happily as the rondo began to flowed around them. Solo piano, alternating arpeggios, a rising tension in the melody before—

The prototype began pressing buttons on the C.D. player to skip ahead, just like he had on the T.V. "What else can it play?"

Dr. Light wasn't ready to move on from this lesson so soon, but noted the prototype might be getting restless.

"Slow down, you're going too fast," said Dr. Light, grinning, pride still churning inside him in a happy, overflowing well. He wanted to run more tests, to get to know the prototype better—but to be careful not to push him too hard on his first day.

Dr. Light paused, stroking his beard seriously as he watched his prototype skip toward the end of the C.D.

"What's up?" asked the prototype, looking over at him.

"I haven't named you yet." Finding the right name had been something Dr. Light had been deliberating for a long time, yet couldn't think of anything that quite captured the uniqueness nor significance the prototype represented in robotics.

"Oh. How about 'Proto'?"

"…I beg your pardon?"

"Call me Proto, as in short for 'Prototype.' Ya know, Proto the prototype. Easier than 'Prototype Android of of Advanced Artificial Self-determination,' right?"

The prototype didn't seem to care much what he was called, nor had given the matter much thought. His suggestion wasn't _quite_ what Dr. Light had in mind…

"You know, choosing a name is a big deal, said Dr. Light. "We don't have to rush—"

But the prototype just shrugged. "Proto's fine by me. It's a good robot name, right?"

Dr. Light decided to concede to this point. If this was the name the prototype wanted, then he would have it. "Alright then, Proto."

Dr. Light glanced at a wall clock.

"It's getting late. You've been activated for nearly eight hours now."

"So?"

"Well, it's time for a rest."

Proto gave him a dubious look. "But I'm not tired."

Dr. Light chuckled. "You will be soon."

He lead Proto upstairs to the first room off the hall.

"This is your room."

Proto looked around. The room was painted a soft grayish blue like the ocean in the morning, and contained a twin-sized bed, a ceiling-high bookshelf with old leather-bound volumes, a thick rug, a walk-in closet filled with clothes, and a maple dresser and nightstand. On one side stood a large open window, its white silk curtains swaying.

Proto stepped into a walk-in closet to change into the flannel pajamas that had been laid out on his bed as Dr. Light closed the window to shut out the chill night air.

Proto still looked skeptical as he climbed into bed. "Sleeping isn't something robots normally do…right?"

"Not in this sense, but it's perfectly normal for humans."

"But I'm not human."

"You're programmed to function like one."

"Why is it so important for me to be human?"

"I'm afraid that's a question for a different day."

"Alright. So what do I do?"

"Just lie down and close your eyes."

Proto settled back on his pillow, pulling the blankets over his shoulders. "So…like this?"

Dr. Light nodded. "Yes, precisely."

"And I'll have to do this _every day?"_

 _"_ Yes," Dr. Light answered patiently. "You're based off a human, and humans regularly go to sleep at the end of the day to 'recharge' for the next day.

"Oh. Weird. Still not sleepy."

Dr. Light smiled ruefully. "Just try to get comfortable, eventually your systems will take over. The best way to fall asleep is to try not to think about falling asleep."

Proto raised a brow. "…Okay?"

"You'll see what I mean."

Dr. Light crossed the room, and turned out the light. "I'm going to bed too. I'll see you in the morning, around eight. Goodnight, Proto."

"Goodnight, Dr. Light," Proto responded, picking up on the phrase as he rested his head against the pillow and closed his eyes.

* * *

Dr. Light closed the door, wondering at how remarkable this quiet, simple day truly had been, for it was the first day a robot had lived like a normal human.

* * *

After Dr. Light's footsteps faded toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall, Proto opened an eye. Then, quietly, he slipped out of bed and crept toward the window. He lifted the latch, slid the window open, glanced back at the door, hesitated, then sat in the sill to look outside, one leg dangling down.

He could see for several miles—the laboratory sat isolated in fields of tall of grass, with glades of trees in the distance. Occasional headlights winked down the dark country roads. There was a glow on the horizon, but it wasn't where sun had gone down on—it was south, and electrical in source, like the headlights. The city.

Having taken in the ground, Proto stared up at the sky, watching the clouds grow and shift, the stars twinkle, and the flashing red lights of airplanes high above earth's gravity.

An autumn wind rustled the trees. He closed his eyes and took a breath as he leaned his head against the sill, smelling the leaves, feeling the air ruffle neatness out of his carefully combed hair.


	2. Chapter 1: The Secret

**Chapter 1: The Secret**

Proto stirred. His eyes cracked open and were immediately seared by a bright light. He squeezed them shut again then blinked rapidly as his optic sensors recalibrated from sleep mode to awake mode. The sun was up, its rays glittering across the dewy, golden fields of tall grass, the wind rustling the dry leaves of trees.

He had fallen asleep while sitting in the window sill. Proto hissed, rubbed the back of his neck, which had become cramped as he climbed back into the room, then caught sight of the digital clock on his nightstand.

It was 8:37.

Closing the window with a snap, Proto darted to his closet to find something wear. Sweaters…flannels…jeans…polos…sweatshirts…the clothes all looked the same to him. He dressed hurriedly, tugging on a long sleeve shirt and belting up a different pair of jeans before dashing out the door and toward the stairs.

Dr. Light was sitting in at the kitchen table waiting for him, a coffee cup in one hand, an open newspaper in the other, its headline _President Lemming Predicted to Win Second Term._

"Good morning, Proto," he greeted cheerily, folding up the newspaper.

"Hey, uh, good morning—sorry I'm late," Proto mumbled as he sidled into a chair opposite of Dr. Light.

"It's quite alright, I knew you would be tired, after all, yesterday was big day for you. How did you sleep?"

"Uhh…." Proto hesitated. Would Dr. Light want to know he had fallen asleep in the window? "Normal, I think."

"Did you have any dreams?"

"Any what?"

"Dreams, or the thoughts and ideas that play out in your imagination while you are asleep."

Proto thought for a moment. "Yeah…now that you say that, I did have a dream. I was walking down a road, like the ones outside. I was looking for another road to turn down, but it kept going on and on…" He shrugged. "Doesn't make a lot of sense now that I'm awake."

"Very interesting."

"Does it mean something?"

"Not necessarily. Dreams reflect our impressions of the outside world, yet you have not been active long enough to have very many impressions. I imagine your dreams will become more complex once you've built up more memories."

"Okay…" said Proto, not sure what to make of this. "Dreaming, like sleeping, is another thing robots don't normally do, right?"

It wasn't really question.

"No, it's another trait your programming shares with humanity."

"Cool, I guess. So…now what?"

"Before we start work today, I'd like to run a few more tests."

"Oh. Yeah, okay…no problem…"

"This may seem silly since everything is probably alright," Dr. Light added apologetically.

"Yes…you and I both know everything is all right," said Proto, smiling.

"It's procedure. To be a good scientist, you must detach yourself from assumptions as they can misguide you. Your systems are very complex, and the first of their kind. I don't want anything bad to happen to you by being careless. I'm responsible for your well being."

Proto shrugged. "Might not be your fault if something bad happened."

"Let's just err on the side of caution," said Dr. Light with firm patience, standing up and gesturing Proto to do the same. "Eventually, we won't have to run them."

They returned to the laboratory, and Proto lay back on the table he had been activated on, playing through his head what 'something bad' could be. Perhaps one of his speech drives would fail, and he'd only be able to speak in proverbs and idioms. That could be fun. Perhaps one of his motor control apparatuses would fail, and Dr. Light would have to rebuild it from scratch while Proto waited, bed bound. Not as fun. Perhaps the computer would catch on fire while running diagnostics, causing the sprinkler systems to go off and short circuit the automatic doors, trapping them inside the laboratory as the water flooded in over their heads. That would be pretty bad, though improbable. Perhaps the tests would come back inconclusive, and Dr. Light would have to run them over and over and over again trying to find out what was wrong as the years passed by. What a horrible thought.

Brainstorming dire hypotheticals and problem-solving for possible solutions entertained Proto during testing as the diagnostic returned positive just as they had the day before. Still, though Proto could see the overhead clock move, the tests seemed to take longer this time around.

"Yes. Just like that. Perfect. You're doing well," Dr. Light said enthusiastically as Proto hopped eagerly off the table. "Now we can proceed with our work for the day."

Dr. Light led Proto into the adjoining side laboratory. Proto had been here the day before when Dr. Light had given him an overview of all the projects he was working on, but Dr. Light pulled out a binder Proto hadn't seen before from a shelf. He set it out on a table in front of Proto.

"As you can see, there is much work to do."

"Uh, yeah, okay, sure," said Proto. It was a thick binder. Yet, as he thumbed through the contents (which were filled with detailed blueprints) it seemed manageable. "And you want me to help work on these?"

"Yes, as my lab assistant. It's an important job with a lot of responsibility, but I know you can handle it."

"Lab assistant," said Proto. It was the first time he had been given a directive. As a robot, he probably should have one of those. "Sure, I can do that. Easy."

"This is not necessarily a permanent position, as you are still developing your programming. Someday, after you've gained more experience, you may move on to other things."

"Like what?" asked Proto, promptly looking up from the binder.

"We shall see when the time comes."

"That's…kinda cryptic. Like, dangerous stuff? More science stuff? Stuff outside the lab? It's a little weird not knowing."

"Your role has not yet been defined," said Dr. Light, his beard twitching into a smile as he cut Proto off. "You are in such a hurry, but you are still very new to this world. As your creator, I will teach you as much as I can. Together, we can create hundreds of industrial and domestic robots, construction robots, mining robots, marine robots! And all to help mankind."

"That's why I was built too, right? To help mankind?" Proto persisted, closing the binder.

Dr. Light looked at him hard. "Everything I do, including building you, is to improve the world we live in, and it is my hope you will learn to uphold that value as well. So in that way, yes, but you are different than these robots."

"Because of the human thing."

"Yes, but it's not so simple. You, like a human, are guided by conscience, compassion, and self-determination, and have the ability to choose your purpose."

"Oh. …What if I make the wrong choice?"

"Oh, I don't think you will, Proto."

"What _is_ a wrong choice?"

"Making decisions that hurt others or yourself—but you are programmed with conscience and compassion, which will help guide you from wrongdoing."

Proto thought on this for a long time. "Hey, Dr. Light…if humans have similar ethical programming—uh, moral behaviors, I mean—how come some choose to be criminals?"

"Sometimes there are tragic circumstances beyond our control that cause humans to resort to desperate measures," said Dr. Light fairly.

"And other times? Like, when they are not forced by outside circumstances."

Dr. Light sighed sadly. "I don't know, Proto. I just don't know." He gave Proto a small, proud smile. "This is a very complicated subject. You must be doing a lot of deep thinking to ask such questions."

"Uh, thanks." Proto scanned Dr. Light. "…This isn't another test, is it?"

Dr. Light laughed. "Of course not. Let's focus on something less heavy for now, it's only your second day." He reopened the binder. "What you will be working on first are prototypes for non-sentient robots called 'drones' that can be mass-produced. But there are other more complex robots and androids that are as alive as you and I are. A good example of this are Robot Masters, who are extremely skilled at accomplishing difficult tasks that humans or even robo-drones could never accomplish."

"Am I a Robot Master?"

Dr. Light hesitated. "Robot Masters are defined by their unique special abilities that help them do their jobs."

"Oh. And my only special ability is being an experimental prototype who is programmed to act human."

"It's more than acting, and it's the most special ability possible. You have true free will unlike any Robot Master I've ever encountered, and you will come to appreciate this in time."

"If you say so. Seems like being able to shoot fire out of my hands or levitate would be pretty cool too."

Dr. Light didn't laugh at this. "Such abilities are not meant for fun, but to aid the Robot Master in their pre-programmed directive."

"...Right. Have you ever created any Robot Masters?"

"I've designed a few, but I've yet to build one myself. Perhaps in the future we can build some."

"Cool." Proto flipped to the beginning of the binder. "You want me to start here, right?"

* * *

For the next few days, Proto began to work on through the plans under close supervision from Dr. Light, spending from nine o'clock to six o'clock in the laboratory each day. Dr. Light assured him he could take as many breaks as he liked and not to push himself too hard, but Proto was determined to get through the binder as soon as possible—he wasn't sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Dr. Light himself did not take very many breaks, and Proto felt if he mirrored this dedication, it would show Dr. Light that he was capable and competent, and not the newly-minted and inexperienced robot that Dr. Light treated him as.

In the mornings, Dr. Light would run diagnostics. Proto dreaded this part of the day, as the diagnostics never returned anything negative, and though Dr. Light spent the same amount of time each day to conduct them, they seemed to take forever to complete.

"What are you testing, anyway?" Proto asked as he lay underneath the computer's roving scanners for the fifth time.

"Your guidance system."

"…Oh."

Robots with faulty guidance systems acted very erratically, like mindless machines who couldn't take orders and were oblivious to the chaos of their own actions. The guidance system was a very, _very_ bad thing to go wrong in a robot, sometimes completely unfixable.

"You don't think something could be _wrong_ with my guidance system, right?" Proto asked, trying to sound casual. "I mean, we'd know, right? It'd be obvious…right?"

"Of course nothing is wrong with your guidance system," said Dr. Light reassuringly. "But I still have to check and document the results. This is only procedure."

As Dr. Light and Proto worked during the days, Dr. Light's C.D. player filled the laboratory with the sounds of trilling string instruments, wavering clarinets, tinkling keyboards, and brassy horns.

"Why this music again? We've listened to it over and over," asked Proto, looking up from the gutter cleaning robot he was wiring as Beethoven's _Minuet in G Major_ played in the background. "I have it memorized."

Dr. Light, who was working on barometers for little weather drones, looked over at him in surprise. "Well, the more you listen to it, the more you will understand and grow to appreciate it. The importance of a work of art is not always at the surface, or even the first listening—sometimes you have to look deeper. It's a good exercise for expanding the mind. You are very smart, but there are still much for you to learn. While Beethoven is my favorite composer, I also have selections from Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Chopin, Debussy, Rachmaninoff…all creative masters whose work still inspires thousands of gifted minds generations later."

"…I don't think I get it," Proto said honestly. "Kinda sounds like brainwashing."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a joke."

"Oh." Dr. Light smiled despite himself. "You must have gotten that notion from a cartoon. It's very good for you to have exposure to music, especially classical music," he assured him. "It took me a while to build up my appreciation for music, and I wish I had started at an earlier age." He stopped the CD player, then switched out the Beethoven CD with another. "We'll try Bach. Perhaps some cross-exposure to different styles will help."

But Proto found he could not tell much difference between any of these humans' music and Beethoven. While the various compositions seemed to make Dr. Light happy and energetic, it made Proto sleepy and the day last longer.

On their free time, Dr. Light encouraged Proto to read, preferably books with educational merit, of which he had a vast library on many subjects, or to write or draw. Proto was also allowed to watch T.V., though Dr. Light warned Proto about spending too much time doing this, as he felt it would be bad for the development of his programming.

Then every night at nine-o-clock, Dr. Light would call it a night and tell Proto to get ready for bed, with lights out at ten o'clock and the expectation that he'd be ready the next day at eight o'clock. Dr. Light seemed to believe this was the best schedule to build up a good work ethic, but Proto found he had trouble going to sleep so early in the night, and even more trouble getting up so early, even when he set an alarm. Dr. Light was patient with him, however, and told Proto he would eventually develop good sleeping habits as his programming matured.

After his second week had passed, Proto was working on his projects on his own as Dr. Light took notes and attended to other matters around the laboratory, then another week later, Dr. Light announced that he needed to conduct business in the city, and would be leaving the laboratory under Proto's charge in his absence.

"Stay in the lab, work through the projects assigned to you—but don't push yourself too hard. Remember, you are still learning," Dr. Light told Proto as he got ready to leave, a suitcase in his hand. "And you can always call me on the communicator if you need me."

"I know, I know," Proto said impatiently, eager to show Dr. Light he could be trusted in the laboratory alone. He wasn't sure why he wasn't allowed to leave or go with Dr. Light yet, but it still seemed like a major milestone.

Proto found he enjoyed freedom of having the laboratory to himself. He could watch whatever he liked on T.V. without Dr. Light trying to suggest that he might like a documentary or science program better, and best of all, no Beethoven while he worked. Sometimes he simply went back up to his room to nap. He never called Dr. Light, but Dr. Light occasionally called him to check up on him and ask how his day was going.

* * *

In the fourth week, Dr. Light returned home early one day to find Proto screwing on the casing of a kitchen drone that could chop vegetables, bake bread, boil water, and wash dishes all in one.

"How is this coming?" Dr. Light asked, bending over the kitchen drone. He liked going over Proto's progress everytime he returned home. Even the minutest or most trivial details, like programming a cooking timer, seemed to make Dr. Light happy.

"I think I'm almost done, but I haven't turned it on yet," said Proto, setting the screwdriver down. "I'm using some of the parts just shipped today from Pfister's Manufacturing plant, and I haven't had a chance to test them out yet."

"Well, let's take a look and see how it works."

"Sure."

Proto turned on the machine.

For a second, the kitchen drone whirled at a strange pitch, then there was a loud _clunk_ and a blender blade broke off and shot toward Dr. Light. But at the same instant, Proto's hand snatched the blade out of the air just inches before it had reached the knot of Dr. Light's necktie.

"Huh…that's weird," Proto said, dropping the broken blade onto the lab table as he powered down the machine again. "This part had a guaranteed near zero percent failure rate. That had to be a one-in-a-million shot, like getting struck like lightning." He looked over at Dr. Light, who had gone pale, and was staring at him. "Robot reflexes," he added casually, shrugging. "I got your back."

Dr. Light, shaken, nodded. "You see now why proper safety procedures are a must in the lab. It was my fault, I should have listened to my own advice and not asked you to turn it on before you had tested it."

"Accidents happen, Doc. Can't prevent anything bad from ever happening."

"Where did you learn that from?"

"Learn what from?"

"What you just said."

Proto shrugged again. "Seems logical. You know how you're always saying that you wouldn't let anything bad happen to me? Well same goes for you."

Dr. Light gave him a weak smile. "Thank you, but hopefully nothing dangerous like that ever happens in the laboratory ever again. We'll need to send the faulty part back to the manufacturer and do a thorough inspection on everything else from that shipment."

"I'll check it out, don't worry about it," said Proto, completely unconcerned.

"That can wait until tomorrow, for now, let's call it a day," said Dr. Light.

They left the laboratory together, Dr. Light shutting the light off behind them.

"So, uh, work wasn't too busy today?" asked Proto as they walked down the hall toward the living room.

"No. I was meeting with some potential clients at the University of Robotics."

"How come they don't come here? Don't you have a home office?"

Proto noticed Dr. Light hesitate.

"I do, but coming to upstate New York can be a bit out of the way for some."

"Hey, I have a question…" said Proto, stopping. It was a planned segue, for something had been on his mind for awhile now, and he was now feeling bold enough to ask.

Dr. Light turned to face him, frowning. "Yes?"

"No one knows you created me…do they?" Proto smiled. "That's why you have to do business in the city instead of here. I'm a secret."

Proto could tell he had caught on to this fact way too fast for Dr. Light's liking. Dr. Light was looking at him warily, the hall clock ticking in the background. "Yes, that is correct."

"That's not strictly _legal_ , is it?"

"It is quite within my right to create experimental robots on my own property," Dr. Light said bracingly.

"Oh." The mysterious reasoning behind why Proto wasn't allowed to leave the laboratory became clear. Proto experience a funny sensation in his midriff, like he was sinking in quicksand.

"I know how badly you'd like to see the outside world," Dr. Light continued on hurriedly, placing a hand on Proto's shoulder. "This arrangement is not permanent. Please be patient a little longer."

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Proto said quickly, hiding his feelings.

* * *

That night, Proto stared out his window. The trees had lost their leaves, and the fields of grass were a deep blue in the night and gathering frost.

He sighed, closed the curtains, and climbed into bed.

 ** _End of Month 1._**


	3. Chapter 2: Stuck

**Chapter 2: Stuck**

The beginning of November brought colder days, Proto waking up to sunlight glinting like shards of fire through the frost on his window.

"Proto…your hair is starting to get very untidy," Dr. Light commented over his newspaper one morning as Proto turned up downstairs. His hand reached towards Proto's bangs, presumably to smooth them back into the neatly brushed style he had been activated with—a style similar to Dr. Light's own hair.

Proto leaned away from him. "Actually, I kinda like it this way."

To his immense relief, Dr. Light didn't push the matter. He even smiled. "Some of my students wear their hair like that. You're growing up so fast."

"Thanks…I guess…" said Proto. He looked over at Dr. Light from the corner of his eye. "You know, sometimes you kinda treat me like a human child, when you know I'm not."

"No, I know you're not. You're an advanced-android," said Dr. Light, frowning at Proto. "But you _feel_ human?

"I guess." Proto had no basis of comparison. To himself, it didn't really matter if he felt human or not, he preferred being a robot. Why was this so important to Dr. Light? He couldn't shake off the feeling he was still part of a larger test—but he didn't know for what, or how to answer, and this frustrated him.

"Are you going away again today?" Proto asked.

"Yes, I have an investors meeting and may not be home until this evening. Will you be alright in the laboratory today?"

"No problem, I'm all over it like keys on a keyboard."

Dr. Light laughed. He always thought Proto was funny, no matter how basic the line. Proto had begun having contests with himself to see if there was any quip so cringeworthy that Dr. Light wouldn't laugh (so far he hadn't found one).

Proto did not mind when Dr. Light had to work late, because he preferred the laboratory better when Dr. Light was absent **.** He felt he could be more relaxed—if a little lonely.

…Not that he had any desire to tag along on Dr. Light's business trips. He imagined the meetings were dull, the humans less bright versions of Dr. Light, and he'd rather scrape paint off a fleet of golf carts than to learn more about Dr. Light's profession.

He spent the time Dr. Light was away chipping away at the projects Dr. Light had given him, pushing hard to finish each one as quickly as possible to move on to the next. Yet, despite his workload in the laboratory, Proto could not distract himself from an innate longing to leave and explore the outside world—but because he was a secret, Dr. Light didn't let him go out alone. While Proto understood, even agreed—he couldn't help but be privately resentful.

Though he couldn't leave, Proto was allowed to go anywhere he wanted within Dr. Light's house—everywhere, that was, but a locked security vault inside the laboratory. Dr. Light had given him the combination, but told him not to enter unless there was an emergency, as the safe was built as strong as a bomb shelter. Proto couldn't imagine why Dr. Light had such a high-security vault in his laboratory, nor that Dr. Light could be hiding anything important or interesting inside. But like any locked door, he was curious.

When Dr. Light was home working with Proto, Dr. Light eagerly turned the conversation to philosophy and the duty to help mankind, his two most earnest passions. This felt pointless to Proto, as it was just the two of them in the laboratory. He still had no clue why the three principles of his programming mattered. It all seemed lofty and pretentious to him, but Dr. Light was taking his opinions on these matters _so_ seriously!

Finally, Proto decided to take this up with Dr. Light.

"What's the point of all this?" he interrupted during one of Dr. Light's sermons on goodwill and humanity as they worked together on a sewage processing drone the size of a small hot tub.

"What do you mean?" asked Dr. Light. A pair of electronic-tomography goggles were strapped to his face as he stood inside the vat-shaped frame. He held out a hand. "Hand me the flat nosed pliers, please."

Proto had already pushed the pair of pliers into his hand. "To learn morals and stuff," he pressed.

"You don't have to learn them, as they are ingrained into your human programming, like instincts. There are still many things you don't understand."

Dr. Light began shaping the wires used in the motor while Proto looked over his shoulder.

"I think the debris guard needs to be relocated above the outlet pump so it doesn't get in the way of the filtration system," advised Proto.

"Hmm. What a clever idea. Hand me the screwdriver."

"I got it," said Proto, climbing onto the edge of the machine's frame and bending over upside-down to access the necessary components.

"Oh, do be careful, Proto!" Dr. Light said half reprovingly, half smiling despite himself.

"I'm always careful. Back to my programming, I just…don't get it. I definitely don't feel as strongly about these things as you do…or really anything. But so what, isn't that normal for a robot?"

"Many robots are capable of feeling emotions, just as you can, though your programming is more advanced."

Proto felt like debating this. "You mean because of the conscience, compassion, and self-determination?" he said as he removed the debris guard. "I don't think I have them."

"Of course you do."

"Okay, prove it."

"The day the part malfunctioned on the kitchen robot you were working on, you said you would look out for me the way I am looking out for you. Didn't you mean that?"

"Yeah, but…" Proto paused. He saw where Dr. Light was going with this, and was stumped how to counter.

"That was your compassion at play," said Dr. Light knowingly. "And I believe this conversation is evidence of your self-determination. Perhaps you can you think back to a time when you've listened to your conscience?" he asked this rhetorically, his eyebrows raised at Proto, like a teacher giving a student a bonus problem to think about for homework.

Proto realized respecting Dr. Light's wishes not to enter the security vault probably counted as his conscience's presence. In fact, he followed all of Dr. Light's rules. He wanted to explain this away as a robot's natural programming to obey orders—but the truth was, Proto could easily break Dr. Light's rules if he wanted, but was _choosing_ not to because Dr. Light placed his trust in him. This was a strange concept to come to terms with.

Dr. Light was reading Proto's face and nodding as though he understood. "Human emotions are very complex. It's okay to feel insecure as you figure out your feelings. But you do have conscience compassion, and self-determination, Proto. Never doubt that. I'm still learning too, and self-determination is a constantly shifting target. You may feel one way one day, then something completely different another."

"Really? I feel the same way every day, like I don't really get anything, and I kinda don't care."

Dr. Light chuckled. "You will someday. Be patient."

"I'm the paradigm of patience," quipped Proto, half wondering if this was true as he pulled himself out of the frame. "All finished here."

"Excellent work. Now, let's move on to the guidance circuitry…"

* * *

Still, despite Dr. Light's reassurances and explanations, Proto couldn't help but think that humans were dull, boring creatures. He held no spite or malice toward them, but at the same time, it wasn't his human abilities he was interested in developing, but his _robot_ ones.

This came at odds with his life at the laboratory, which Dr. Light had seemed to have crafted to be as mundanely human as possible. Even his spare time seemed tedious.

Watching television was a prime example of this. The shows and the stations were repetitive, driven by selling products and fake human experiences that Proto did not find very interesting. Sometimes, when Dr. Light was not home, Proto turned to a channel that primarily played music videos. From the first few minutes of watching, Proto knew Dr. light would _hate_ this channel for its crude humor and offensive language. Still, he wasn't connecting with the modern pop or head-banging metal bands popular among humans teenagers. It just seemed so…phony. Perhaps music was just a human thing—as a robot, he wouldn't get it.

Proto also tried to entertain himself with books, but reading something and actually doing it was not the same.

The only topics that seemed to pique his interest involved action and adventure. He had seen news clips of humans bungee jumping into canyons, kayaking around maelstroms, snowboarding down active volcanoes, scaling cliff sides without safety harnesses, drag racing through ravines, and camping out on deserted islands with nothing but a towel. He could do the same. Not go bungee jumping per say, but to be so daring. He had heard the expression 'curiosity killed the cat,' but he had also seen cop shows. Even crime stake outs didn't scare him at all. He never felt scared of anything—he felt confident in himself and his abilities. Besides, without risk, there was no fun, he reasoned.

Proto began to mull these scenarios over in his head, and something seemed to click.

He waited until the next time Dr. Light was working with him in the laboratory to share what was on his mind. Proto was calibrating the motion sensors for mini carpet scrubbing robots shaped like mice, while Dr. Light sat at the computer with a mug of decaf coffee in hand, scanning through a geological dataset Proto had collected for him while Dr. Light was away at a lecture. Proto put down his work and strode over to this computer.

"Dr. Light?"

"Yes, Proto? This report is very good, great job. We'll be able to start work on the mining drones in no time."

"Yeah, that's great—Listen, I don't know what your plans are for me, but I have an idea what I'd like to do."

"…And what is that?"

"Fight crime. Join the police or something. You know, become a hero."

The words hung awkwardly between them. Proto could tell Dr. Light was caught off guard. He placed his decaf coffee on a coaster whirled his chair around, staring at Proto with a strangely tense expression. Proto had no idea what was going on in Dr. Light's head.

"Why do you want to fight crime?" Dr. Light asked finally.

"Heh…Do I have to have a reason beyond I want to?" Proto asked uncertainly.

"That's a dangerous job with lots of responsibility. I wouldn't want you to take it lightly."

"I know, and I wouldn't. Not like I'd become some kind of terminator or anything—but this is how I can serve mankind. Criminals are dumb, and they are doing it all wrong. I could help catch the bad guys, you know, the really bad ones who don't care about anything but themselves—and when I'm not doing that, I can rescue humans from burning buildings and kittens from trees and stuff. I know I'd be really good at it."

The color was draining from Dr. Light's face. He looked vaguely sick. "Where did you get this idea?"

"I don't know…TV?" Proto said honestly. "Not like I've had much exposure to anything else."

Some of the tension faded from Dr. Light's face. "That's not the best way to become informed. I think you watch too much too much television, it is full of bad influences."

"I know, but I can tell the difference when something is a good or bad influence. I saw on the news that New York City has been experiencing an uptick in illegal machinery used in crime. They think there must be someone out there building them, but they haven't caught anyone yet—"

"I'm sure the proper authorities are already on that case, and there are already robots built to handle such dangerous situations—"

" _I know,_ and I'm not one of those robots, but I could be just as good given the chance—"

"Proto, there isn't an urgent call for this now, and you are still very young," Dr. Light cut him off gently.

Proto felt a sinking sensation in his chest. "So that's a 'no'?"

Dr. Light looked distressed at his tone. "Proto, anything is possible—" he began tentatively.

But Proto could tell Dr. Light didn't like the idea.

"—But first you need the experience to make a decision such as this. There are many ways you can help mankind, including your work here in the lab, which you are very talented at."

"I know, we'll talk about it some other time," replied Proto dully. "I'll stick to being a lab-assistant for now. That's almost the same thing anyway."

He returned to calibrating the motion sensors in silence, trying to pretend this strangely heavy conversation had not happened while a collection of Beethoven's sonatas played in the background. Meanwhile, Dr. Light was doing the same, acting cheerful but watching him very closely with a furrowed expression and struggling with his own thoughts. He seemed to be on the verge of telling Proto something (probably another excuse to dissuade him from thinking about the future yet) but Proto gave him no indication that he wanted to hear it.

Finally, the clock struck nine. Dr. Light approached Proto quietly.

"Proto, you need to go to bed."

"I will when I'm ready."

Dr. Light put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, you're tired, I can tell."

Proto sighed, but put down his work.

* * *

Proto lay in bed that night, looking up the at the smooth white ceiling with crown molding around its borders. He wracked his entire programming, but he couldn't think of any other job he'd like even half as much as being a robot hero. Sure, he didn't have a special power like a Robot Master, but he could still do it. And it just made _sense_ to him, more so than breathing or sleeping or any of the other silly human things he had been programmed to do.

He just couldn't figure out why Dr. Light was being so weird about all this. Proto got that Dr. Light didn't like anything to do with violence or danger, and wouldn't want Proto to get hurt. If Dr. Light had it his way, Proto would stay a lab-assistant forever—that, or graduate to being a full-time inventor of domestic robo-drones like Dr. Light, Proto was certain of this.

 _And if that's really my future, Dr. Light might as well scrap me for spare parts now,_ he thought resolutely as he turned out the light.

He stared at the ceiling in total darkness for a few minutes longer. In eight hours, he'd be waking up again to have an identical day to the day he had had today, and be no closer to doing the things he wanted. There had to be something more to life.

And that was the first night Proto snuck out.

He dropped out of the window and landed lightly on the lawn, which was flat and silvery with a lacy layer of frost. A second later, he was sprinting down the field as fast as he could, the cold hard air rippling in his hair, the grass crunching under his feet, the moon a silvery gibbous above, lighting his way.

He wasn't really supposed to be outside alone, but he figured so long as he didn't leave Dr. Light's property, he technically wasn't leaving, and technically wasn't being disobedient.

The lawn soon turned into a waist-high grassy field. A small gully with a dark creek cut through the field like a snake, and Proto made a thirty-foot lunge to clear it, landing neatly in a small cluster of tall trees on the other side. He scrambled up the top of the oldest oak to look around.

The view was similar to what it had been in his window. The glow of New York City lay to the south. He felt the vastness of the sky above, the stars winking softly, their positions shifting as fall wore on into winter. For a brief moment, Proto wished the earth word turn upside down and he could plunge into the deep velvety void.

Proto leaped off the tree onto the frozen ground, and began to explore the fields of Dr. Light's property while testing his physical abilities. He uprooted tree stumps and rolled over boulders with his bare hands, he ran and jumped from place to place with inhuman speed and agility, and crept silently through the shadows to sneak up on foxes prowling around in the darkness.

Quite suddenly, there was another glow edging into the sky. Proto gazed at the light in confusion, then, checking his internal clock, realized with a jolt of shock that it was the sun rising. If Dr. Light woke up and discovered Proto wasn't in his bed—Proto wasn't sure what would happen. He might never get another chance to leave.

With pajama legs completely soaked and stained from running through frosty grass, Proto pelted back up the lawn toward the laboratory. With one leap, his hand caught on the sill of his open window, and he pulled himself inside and closed the glass just as dawn broke.

* * *

Dr. Light looked worried as Proto shuffled sluggishly into the kitchen with overly rumpled hair and half-lidded eyes.

"Proto…did you sleep okay last night?" he asked, peering into Proto's face.

"Not really," said Proto without meeting his eyes.

"I thought so. Did you have a nightmare?"

"Dunno. Maybe," he responded shortly. He wasn't about to mention he had been up all night.

"Hmmmm….let's run a test to make sure your sleep protocols are functioning properly," said Dr. Light, stroking his beard and looking him over as if he were a sick patient.

"Okay," said Proto, for once too tired to mind lying still on an operating table for however long Dr. Light made him do it. He dozed off five minutes into the first test, and woke up a couple hours later to find Dr. Light had gone back to work while letting him nap. Dr. Light smiled at him and shook his head as Proto returned to the laboratory. As usual, the tests returned nothing wrong.

"You must be one of those off days that we humans sometimes have," he said.

"Yup, that must be it," Proto responded flatly.

"Just remember not to push yourself so hard," Dr. Light advised.

He later sent Proto to bed early, which Proto willingly obliged, collapsing headfirst into his sheets.

* * *

Someone was shaking Proto's shoulder. It was half-past five and his room was still dark. He looked blearily up at Dr. Light.

"Whaazz wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I thought we'd go out today."

"Really?" Proto tried hard to play off how hard this pleased him, though he knew Dr. Light wasn't fooled.

"I know you don't like getting up early, but it will be worth it, trust me."

But Proto was already throwing off his blankets. Five minutes later, he was dressed and climbing into the passenger seat of Dr. Light's brown Cadillac. He watched Dr. Light operate the wheel, pedals and gear selector with interest as they pulled out of the laboratory's long driveway.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to leave the laboratory yet," he commented as they whisked down the dark country road.

"Well, it should be okay to bend the rules a bit in this case," answered Dr. Light, "And I will be with you the whole time."

Their first stop was at the beach ocean to watch the sunrise. An icy wind was blowing off the water. Dr. Light was clutching his thick overcoat tightly around himself, a felt hat sitting low on his face, which was red with windburn, but he was smiling as Proto watched the golden disk rise slowly out of the horizon, staining the clouds in rich reds and oranges while its rays shimmered in a streak down the waves.

Next, Dr. Light drove them to New York City. They left the car in a parking garage then took the monorail into Manhattan.

The gleaming skyscrapers rose to spectacular heights, the streets jammed with cars honking at one another, and the sidewalks flooded with humans bundled up in coats and hats. No one seemed to notice anything unusual about Proto at all—he truly blended in with the human crowds. Not even the robots working as street vendors or construction workers recognized him as one of them.

They walked all over on foot, touring Time Square, Grand Central Station, Broadway, The Rockefeller Center, Fifth Avenue, and the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Kinda thought she'd be taller," commented Proto wryly as they gazed at the Statue of Liberty while strolling along the piers.

Dr. Light laughed. "I thought the same thing when I first saw her."

To give Proto a better view of the city as a whole, Dr. Light then bought tickets to ride to the observation deck of the Empire State Building. It was an impressive sight. Proto looked down at the city stretching out around them like inside of a computer terminal filled with complicated circuit boards. He remembered climbing the trees in Dr. Light's lawn the night before, and had a whimsical thought at how much more fun scaling these buildings would be.

Afterward, they entered Central Park, where Dr. Light got a quick lunch from a pushcart selling sandwiches while Proto looked at the animals in the zoo, studying their cages pensively. Then they went on a hike along the winding paths, passing bare trees, the wide basins of empty fountains, ponds of gray water and many statues—including one of Beethoven, which Dr. Light smiled at as they passed.

They were just about to leave the park when Proto noticed the sound of music drifting toward them—guitar, bass, drums, keyboard, saxophone, trumpet, and harmonica. It was unlike anything he had ever heard—the chords were different, the rhythms unexpected, the instruments playing off each other in a collection of contrasts: energetic yet smooth, stirring yet relaxed, improvisational yet driven—It seemed to stir something deep inside him, an affinity he couldn't quite describe.

"Hey, Dr. Light—what's that music?"

"I believe it's jazz…or perhaps blues," answered Dr. Light, glancing at the musicians.

The music sounded so free and real, without the formal structure, frills, or pretension of all other genres he had heard before. He almost asked Dr. Light to stop and listen, but he didn't, filing the memory away instead.

To end the day in what Proto assumed was meant to be a treat, Dr. Light took him to a symphony concert in Carnegie Hall. Though Proto could appreciate the live rendition for its skilled musicians, he couldn't help but be bored into a stupor after the live music in the park, and was glad when the two-hour concert was over.

As they were leaving the concert hall, Dr. Light smiling in content while Proto had his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, a loud _bang_ echoed through the buildings above them. Both Dr. Light and Proto jumped, Proto instinctively standing in front of Dr. Light.

"It's all right, it's just a jet. The sound startled me too." Dr. Light craned his neck toward the sky, shielding his eyes with a hand. "The military must be doing an exercise."

Proto had spotted the jet, a smooth aerodynamic triangle of hunter green rapidly dwindling into a spec before vanishing into the sunset.

"It's so… _fast._ "

"Yes," Dr. Light said simply.

A million question bubbled up inside Proto, but he couldn't choose one so he said nothing.

"We best go back to the car," said Dr. Light, checking his watch. "I hate driving in the dark."

* * *

Night had fallen by the time they were pulling into the laboratory.

"Hey, uh, thanks for taking me out," Proto said as they climbed the stairs into the laboratory. "Today was fun."

Dr. Light raised his brows at him. "This won't be the last time, I promise."

Proto gave him a half smile. "I know."

* * *

The fun feeling didn't last long when Proto returned back to his daily routine the next day.

Dr. Light had always said Proto _would_ be able to leave the laboratory someday…but Proto was wising up to the fact that he wouldn't truly be leaving in the sense he wanted to. He would always be under Dr. Light's supervision in one way or another, like a ward.

…Why did that bother him? Dr. Light was kind, thoughtful, caring—but Proto was independent and could make decisions on his own. Despite whatever Dr. Light said, Proto was being treated like a human child—but even humans eventually grew up and could go out on their own. Proto felt like he had already grown up.

At the same time, Proto had no inclination to tell Dr. Light how he felt about any of this. He wasn't sure why at first, but the more he mulled it over the more he realized it was because, as a robot, he'd always be considered Dr. Light's property, and that would inevitably limit his freedom drastically.

He continued sneaking out at night. Not that there was much to do…he just liked being alone in the darkness, wandering the cold hard ground. It was a small rebellion, yet it felt liberating and exciting. He made sure to not overdo it like he had the first night, which caused himself to be visibly exhausted in front of Dr. Light. Still, the more he snuck out, the more his programming adjusted to this strange sleeping schedule.

He had also looked up the music he had heard in the park.

 _C'mon, Dr. Light…surely you have some records from when you were a kid, right?_ he had thought the day after they had returned, digging through old storage boxes. It took some rummaging, but he eventually assembled an odd collection of instrumental albums. They spanned the various roots of rock music—from jazz, swing, folk, and best of all, blues. They had obviously been gifts that Dr. Light had never opened. Proto, however, listened to them all while Dr. Light was away (including a cheezy tango album) and once he was through, started over again. They were old-fashioned, but in a cool way.

Meanwhile, Proto had only completed a tenth of the projects in Dr. Light's binder, starting with small domestic bots such as sidewalk sweepers, litter removers, and pool scrubbers. Dr. Light was impressed with his work, but Proto had hoped to be much further by now.

His temper was wearing particularly thin when, after finishing a complicated batch of weather measuring drones, Dr. Light returned home to inspect them and deliver the bad news that every single one needed to be recalibration and tested again before operation.

"You want me to test all of them _again_? That seems a little overkill," Proto protested.

"Not all work is fun," said Dr. Light apologetically. "This is a lesson in persistence and patience. These designs are particularly finicky, and it appears as though you may have rushed through them; the work is not up to your usual standard. You wouldn't want them to malfunction during their first field test, would you?"

"No, of course not…" grumbled Proto with a resigned sigh. Dr. Light was right, he had hurried through them without much care of their outcome.

Dr. Light seemed to notice that Proto wasn't exactly ecstatic about retesting everything. "Why don't we take a break," he suggested.

Proto turned his back on him, snatching up a toolbox. "No, I don't need a break…let's just get this over with."

"You're pushing yourself too hard. It's alright if you don't want to work on these now, this will all be here again tomorrow."

The words hit Proto like a brick. There was no end in sight, this was his life, he was stuck in the laboratory like a fly submerged in tree sap. He clenched his hand into a fist.

Dr. Light was watching him with concern. "Take a rest," he insisted. "Come with me, we'll go for a walk, get some fresh air and take our mind off things."

Proto liked that idea even _less. "_ Actually, you know what? I think I'd like to read."

"Alright," said Dr. Light, still eyeing Proto with knitted brows. "I have a good book on New York City." He handed Proto a volume from his desk. "It full of history on some of the places we visited. You may find it interesting."

"…Thanks."

Proto trudged up the stairs to his room, tossed the book on his bed and sat over in the window sill. He looked at the road that wound past the laboratory's driveway imagined walking down it and never coming back.

The sudden thought startled him, like a jolt of electricity, snapping him out of the fantasy. No, he wasn't _seriously_ thinking of running away. That would be stupid, all sorts of things could go wrong. He just needed a little space, that was all.

Proto took a deep breath, looking up at the horizon, and waited as his feelings ebbed away.

 _ **End of Month 2.**_


	4. Chapter 3: Cracking Up

**Chapter 3: Cracking Up**

Dr. Light continued taking Proto on outings—museums, theaters, nature hikes, things Proto could attend without attracting attention and exposing his identity as an advanced-android—but Proto wasn't enjoying the experiences as much as he once thought he might have—or, more accurately, he did not like spending time with Dr. Light. Truthfully, Proto was finding he was caring less and less about things in general. Dr. Light was finding more mistakes in his work, and Proto was offering little to no input on designs.

Dr. Light returned home one afternoon from a lecture at the University of Robotics to find Proto sitting at the kitchen table, his head resting on his arm. It had been a particularly gray day with temperatures near freezing, so Dr. Light took a moment to hang his coat on a hook near the door and remove his gloves and hat before approaching Proto.

"Hello, Proto. What did you do today?"

Proto looked up. "Made a billion paper planes," he responded listlessly, tossing one of his creations. It glided the length of the kitchen before landing nose first in a planter.

"Ah, I see…" said Dr. Light, plucking the paper airplane and eyeing a mound of folded paper next to Proto. He looked pensively down at the airplane, as if weighing his words carefully. "This one is very nice."

Proto said nothing.

"…But don't you wish you had done something more constructive with your time?" Dr. Light added gently, without a hint of disapproval.

Proto shrugged. Ever since his first day in New York City, he had slowly grown obsessed with the idea of piloting—researching everything he could find in the laboratory from volumes on aerospace engineering to television programs on flight. He didn't tell Dr. Light this, because he didn't want him to discourage this idea like he had crime fighting. After all, piloting could be just as dangerous, and had almost no direct benefit to mankind.

Dr. Light was watching him quietly, turning the paper plane over and over in his hands absentmindedly.

"Proto, are you unhappy?" he asked finally.

"Huh? No. Why would I be unhappy?" Proto deflected automatically.

"If you're unhappy, you should let me know," said Dr. Light.

 _Yeah, that will make a real difference,_ thought Proto.

Beethoven had been just the tip of the iceberg. Slowly everything about Dr. Light was annoying Proto, from his patient but unrelenting ideals, the long and thoughtful assessment he gave everything, his obliviousness to the obvious, but most of all just how _boring_ he was. If there was anything Proto could do to be the opposite, he would. He couldn't believe he had once confided to Dr. Light his interest in fighting crime and how stupid that must have sounded. As if Dr. Light, inventor of household domestic robots, would know anything about it!

"Hmmmm," said Dr. Light after the long ensuing silence. He looked down at the large paper shopping bag he had carried in. "Here, I saw this and thought of you. I'm afraid I don't understand it, but the students I teach at the university rave about it. I've looked up some studies, and it looks like it might even have some educational merit."

He handed Proto a large paper shopping bag.

"Oh, okay, thanks."

Proto opened the bag. Inside was a brand new video game system and a stack of the cartridges. It seemed like Dr. Light hadn't been sure what to get, so he had bought everything. At the top of the cartridge stack was a game labeled _Skyblasters_ , its picture of a jet was a bit appealing. Dr. Light was right, he needed a break. He was feeling a bit…cagey. At least it was a good excuse to get away from Dr. Light and the laboratory for awhile.

"Well, go on," Dr. Light said encouragingly, nodding toward the living room.

* * *

Proto played through the video games one by one. Though he could understand why some might consider this objectively fun, he couldn't find his escape into a world of colorful pixels and bright sound effects even remotely satisfying. _Skyblasters_ was undoubtably his favorite game, but he had already gotten the highest score possible. He signed each record with the initials 000, an expression of what he felt, until finally there were no spaces left for high scores.

He wondered if he'd ever fly a real jet.

…Or even a small airplane, but he really wanted to fly a jet like the military one he had seen in the city. It had been so fast, like a speeding meteorite in the sky. The view must have been incredible, ten thousand times better than the empire state building, and it could go wherever it wanted—there were no boundaries in the sky.

 _Maybe someday,_ Proto thought dully. But Dr. Light wouldn't even let him drive a car yet—Dr. Light was like a huge anchor dragging Proto back from doing the things he wanted to do _now._

Though Proto tried not to think about it, the idea of running away had taken root in his mind like a weed. What he really needed was a jet to fly away. But how could he get one? It wasn't like he could just steal one...

...could he?

These were dangerous thoughts. _Get a grip, Proto,_ he thought to himself firmly. He wasn't going to start breaking rules just because he was having a bad day.

Yet something was happening to him. He wasn't sure what, but he didn't feel like himself.

* * *

Proto brooded on this thought for a few days, but nothing changed. He waited until the next time Dr. Light planned to work at home all day in the laboratory to broach this strange development in his programming.

They were working on different armor constructions to help protect the circuitry of mining drones from cave-ins. It was tricky work, and Dr. Light brainstormed ideas while Proto graphed the models into a computer and ran various simulations for potential vulnerabilities.

"Hey, Dr. Light…I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," Proto said as Dr. Light began sketching out a hard hat similar to those worn by construction workers.

"Yes?"

"Maybe something is wrong with me. Maybe the tests have been coming back wrong all along."

It wasn't an easy admission to make, and Proto wasn't really sure Dr. Light was the best confidant…but Proto was feeling down, and Dr. Light was his creator _and_ a brilliant roboticist. If something was wrong with him, Dr. Light was his best shot at detecting and fixing it.

Dr. Light looked at him hard from over his drafting desk, clearly taking this notion as seriously as though Proto had said the wiring in the laboratory could cause a potential fire hazard, but responded, "I…don't think so. Proto, why are you having these thoughts?"

"I feel…" …Nothing? Off? Proto just shrugged, gazing at a cartesian coordinate graph and trying to remain as neutral as possible. He didn't like being watched this carefully, it made him feel like a guppy in a fishbowl.

"I can run another test if that will make you feel better," Dr. Light offered.

They headed into the laboratory, Proto laying down on the table. It had been awhile since Dr. Light had last ran a test. Proto waited under the computer scanner as Dr. Light bent into his computer, his face drawn. There was a long tense silence, the rays of the computer sweeping over Proto from head to toe. He bet Dr. Light could see anger and his frustration corrupting every string of his code. Proto had never seen Dr. Light look at one of his diagnostic results so seriously, so focused—

"Proto?"

"Yeah?"

"There's nothing wrong," Dr. Light said with a small smile.

Proto was dumbfounded. "…Are you sure?"

"Absolutely positive." Dr. Light swiveled in his chair to face him. "I think you're just under a lot of stress, like growing pains—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Proto said abruptly, slipping off the lab table. He didn't want to hear Dr. Light's explanation of what is going on in his own head. If the computer couldn't detect anything physically wrong with him, then nothing was wrong.

"Perhaps you need to take a break," said Dr. Light. "How did you like the video games?"

"Great. Beat them all."

"Oh." Dr. Light thought for a moment. "Or we could go out—"

"No, I'm alright, just forget it," said Proto, struggling to keep his voice even. For some reason his temper was rising as though ignited by a spark of trivial humiliation, like tripping or spilling something. He had never felt this irritable over nothing before, and regretted asking Dr. Light to run another pointless test, wanting things to return to normal as quickly as possible.

He stalked back into the laboratory, Dr. Light trailing him with troubled eyes. He'd have to think of something fast to get Dr. Light off his case before things escalated and he really did loose his temper.

"Sorry for worrying you over nothing, I'm fine now—wouldn't want to dig myself ourselves a hole over mining drones."

It worked like a charm. Dr. Light's face broke out into a smile. "Not a problem at all, and very amusing."

"Yeah, I know. I'm a _real_ comedian."

* * *

One morning, Proto descended the stairs to find Dr. Light standing in front of the sliding doors that opened out onto the porch.

"Look Proto, it's the first big snow of winter," said Dr. Light, pointing outside.

Proto looked down at the blanket of snow, blinding white in the sun. It had completely transformed Dr. Light's yard into a clean slate, unmarred save for the tracks of birds crisscrossing around the bird feeders.

… _Tracks._

Shit. Proto couldn't sneak out while this stuff was everywhere…it'd be too obvious if Dr. Light woke up to see size ten footprints all over his yard. He looked at the snow in despair. Sure, Dr. Light was taking him out more often—but without the freedom to go out on his own, he was going to go stir crazy.

"…Are you alright?"

"Yup, all good," Proto said quickly. He really needed to control his face, even Dr. Light seemed to be tuning into his emotions faster than he'd like. "So, what are we doing today?"

* * *

As they continued work on the mining drones, Dr. Light explained the concept of energy cans to Proto.

"Energy cans are a much faster way for robots to absorb fuel," he quoted as though reading an encyclopedia entry, "—Especially when they are going through energy at a rate drastically above their normal daily energy consumption."

Dr. Light showed Proto an energy can, which made a bell-like ring as its bottom rim hit the table he placed it on. It looked like a normal can of soda humans purchased out of vending machines.

"So kinda like Popeye and spinach," summed up Proto disinterestedly, resting his elbows against the table.

Dr. Light blinked. "Oh, you are referencing a cartoon! Very clever!"

"Yeah, building robots and watching T.V. is all I do. Everyday."

Dr. Light was oblivious to the edge in Proto's voice. "Well, too much T.V. can be a bad thing. That's why when I work, I listen to Beethoven."

Proto mentally groaned as Dr. Light flipped on the CD player, and resisted cupping his hands around his ears and put his head on the table. _Keep it together, keep it together…_ He was having a wild fantasy of smashing the CD-player against the concrete floor. He could turn it off, but that would cause a confrontation with Dr. Light, or at least a long talk about his feelings—and he didn't want to talk about his feelings, ever. He knew Dr. Light wouldn't like them. He wasn't even sure he understood them now…but they were him.

 _Just wait until he leaves again, then you can turn it off. Be smart. You don't want to snap over a little thing like the sixth symphony._

…But the problem was, it seemed like any little thing might make him snap at anytime.

"By the way, I'm building something special, a surprise," said Dr. Light with a small smile.

Despite himself, this caught Proto's interest. "Really? Like what? …Another robot?"

Dr. Light smiled, but said no more.

Proto was slightly startled by this news. Could Dr. Light be building another version of himself? He had resigned himself to the fact that he would forever be one-of-a-kind, without peer or equal. He felt a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety about the new robot that Dr. Light was secretly building. It would be great to have someone else in the laboratory to talk to and clown around with, like a friend, someone who'd really get what his life was like. On the other hand…what if this new robot _didn't_ like him?

His thoughts and speculation were in vain, however, as it turned out Dr. Light was not building a robot like him at all.

Dr. Light called Proto to the laboratory several days later to unveil a small robot with a round body, neon green armor, giant ping-pong eyes, and two short legs ending in thickly treaded boots.

"Uh…What is it?" Proto asked, nonplussed.

"He is Eddie, an Emergency Dispatch Dispenser of Instant Energy," said Dr. Light brightly, activating the new robot with his pocket remote.

The robot's ping-pong eyes opened. He caught sight of Proto and began jumping up and down. "Whup whup whup! Bzzzzz! Eddie's Energy Delivery Service, at _your_ service!" the robot sang in a shrill voice. He spun on the toe of his boot, flipped open his lid, and an energy can shot out like a cork from a bottle. Proto caught the can before giving Dr. Light a dubious look. "Growing robots need their energy, so drink up! Yummy yummy!" Eddie squealed encouragingly.

Proto felt instantly repulsed as Eddie zoomed in circles around his ankles like a hyperactive border collie. He had a strong urge to kick him across the room like a soccer ball.

Dr. Light was watching Proto's face with rapt attention. "Do you like him?" he asked tentatively.

"Uh…" Was now the time for blunt honesty? "He's a little much, Dr. Light. It's going to be distracting working with him around."

"Oh." Dr. Light's face was falling. "I thought he was funny."

 _Well you think a lot of things that aren't funny are funny,_ Proto thought in exasperation.

"Well, perhaps I can take a look at his programming," Dr. Light said doubtfully as Eddie began to sing tunelessly and do a jig. "He's a support unit designed to be on the field."

Proto's eyes snapped toward Dr. Light. …On the field? What was that supposed to mean?

 _It means this stupid tap dancing suitcase will someday go out to do exciting things that required blast proof armor, meanwhile I as an advanced-android am stuck here…_ he thought. Trying to keep his tone neutral, Proto asked, "What was he commissioned for? The army?"

Dr. Light chuckled. "Oh, he wasn't commissioned. He's programmed to only stay active for short bursts, but I thought he could keep you company in the laboratory."

This got on Proto's nerve. He no longer felt like being nice about this.

"Uh, that's a joke, right?"

 _"_ _Proto!"_

"Sorry, just…I think I work better alone."

Dr. Light scrutinized him carefully. "Do you really feel that way?"

Well, if it was either that or working with robots like Eddie— "Mmm, yup," Proto answered easily.

Dr. Light frowned. "Well, I think it is important that you learn to work with others." He sighed. "I'm not able to stay in the laboratory as much as I'd like. I have deadlines, obligations to keep, contracts to fulfill…"

There were words unsaid there—Proto knew Dr. Light had to keep busy with work to fund his expensive research. He wasn't sure how much an advanced-android cost to build, but he had a guess.

"You could come with me—" Dr. Light added pleadingly.

"No, that's okay," Proto said quickly. He had been deflecting this idea as much as he could without outright telling Dr. Light how much he hated it.

* * *

Despite Proto's reluctance, Dr. Light would not easily give up on Proto working with others at some capacity.

"I have someone for you to meet," he announced a few days later as Proto worked through the preliminary work of calibrating the mining drone's digging protocols. "He's a colleague of mine, and one of the best roboticists I know."

This was a surprise. Proto had never met any of Dr. Light's colleagues. He immediately pictured another Dr. Light—perhaps older, with a stooped back, coke-bottle glasses, and a beard down to his belt.

What he never expected in a million years was the scientist who went by the name of Wily.

Dr. Wily prowled through the laboratory and surveyed Dr. Light's projects as if he were a landlord inspecting a rental unit for any fault that would allow him to keep the security deposit, his light blue eye scrutinizing everything like it was a disgusting bug. Wild gray hair spiked away from a bare head. Unlike Dr. Light, who wore his lab-coat buttoned over a red suit vest, Dr. Wily wore his lab coat open, which flared dramatically behind him like a cloak, showing off a scarlet tie clipped to his clashing lilac dress shirt with a golden tie bar. He greeted Dr. Light with a gruff voice that Proto noticed with interest contained a central european accent—Austrian, or possibly German. Proto wondered what it was like to have lived in more than than one country.

"So, this is the Prototype of Advanced Artificial Self-Determination, is it?" Dr. Wily asked Dr. Light as though Proto couldn't hear or understand them.

"Uh…just call me Proto," Proto spoke up.

Dr. Wily's bushy brows drew down over his eyes in a tight V. "Proto…as in prototype?"

"You got it."

"That's hardly creative, Tom."

Dr. Light smiled. "It's the name Proto chose, Albert."

Dr. Wily leaned in so close that his beady eyes and hook nose were only inches away from Proto's face. Proto looked away, his nose wrinkling.

"Hmm, well he's very ordinary, very plain," Dr. Wily muttered. Proto didn't think Dr. Light could hear Dr. Wily, because he was still standing in the distance with his arms folded behind his back, smiling genially.

Out of the corner of his eye, Proto could see Dr. Wily watching him with a shadow on his face, filled with jealousy and dislike. _Gee, great, I'm going to be dragged into a petty feud between two roboticists. My life is awesome._

Dr. Wily straightened up. "And he knows how build other robots?" he addressed Dr. Light again as though Proto were in a different state.

"Yes, of course, he's been helping out as my laboratory assistant. He is really quite good at construction, and is looking for new experiences."

"Yeah, like scrapbooking and yoga," Proto piped in.

Dr. Wily glared at him. Though Proto considered his sarcasm mild, Dr. Wily was obviously taking it as a deep offense. "Well, we shall see if he can work up to my standard," he said finally as though he sincerely doubted this.

Dr. Light beamed at him. "So you will pick him up tomorrow at noon?"

"Yes. He better be ready."

Dr. Wily and Dr. Light strode out of the laboratory toward Dr. Light's office, Dr. Wily's lab-coat whipping out behind them. About ten minutes later, Proto heard a car back out the driveway as Dr. Light returned alone.

"Uh…hey Dr. Light, doesn't Dr. Wily seem kind of….shady to you?" Proto asked. He had been bursting to say something ever since Dr. Wily had walked into the room.

Dr. Light chuckled. "I've worked with Albert for many years. He's a bit eccentric, but you can't judge a book by its cover."

Proto looked back the laboratory door with a raised eyebrow. "…If you say so."

* * *

Proto blinked at the car sitting in the driveway the next day. Like Dr. Light, Dr. Wily also owned a cadillac—a grape purple 1950s cadillac, with a white hood, dramatically flared tail fins, and a chrome skull hood ornament.

"Well? Get in," Dr. Wily growled. He was indicating the driver's side.

"Oh, uh, Dr. Light doesn't let me drive. I'm kinda a secret…still in beta-testing."

"Well then, don't get pulled over. You can manage that, can't you?"

Without another look at him, Dr. Wily climbed into the passenger side, closed the door, and pulled out a laptop and began typing.

Proto stared after Dr. Wily, then over at the empty driver's seat. If Dr. Wily wanted him to break the law, _fine._ He'd show that old crackpot. He'd been dying to drive ever since Dr. Light had first taken him to New York City anyway. He climbed in, buckled up, and pulled out of the driveway.

"Pff. Ridiculous," Dr. Wily muttered. "Imagine, not letting a robot drive! When you can drive _anything._ What does Dr. Light think you are, a little school child?"

Proto said nothing, not wanting to agree with Wily on anything ever, but he couldn't help but smile a little as he passed a mail truck puttering down the road.

Dr. Wily gave Proto a critical look out of the corner of his eye.

"…Though you might as well be a school boy with how useful you will be to me. I do not need assistance with my work. I'm just taking you on as a favor to Tom."

"Oh, okay, that's fine," responded Proto, taken off guard (but not completely surprised) by Dr. Wily's burst of rudeness.

"You are to be quiet, follow instructions, and to keep your nose out of where it doesn't belong as though your very life depended on it."

Proto gave a light snort. Was this guy actually threatening him? "Sure thing."

With that, Dr. Wily returned to his laptop and refused to talk to him other than to grunt out occasional directions without looking up. Proto didn't mind. He had to suppress a strong temptation to slam the gas and go whizzing up the entrance ramp to the highway like a rocket. Dr. Wily had made some obvious modifications to the cadillac, for the dashboard had a weather gauge, an 'all terrain mode', a turbo-boost, and even something that suspiciously looked like an anti police radar jamming device.

After a half hour of driving, they reached Dr. Wily's home in the outskirts of the the suburbs: a small Victorian style house painted the same purple as his car, with a giant satellite mounted on top, its lawn unkept and littered with plastic skulls, pumpkins, crows, and bats.

"Heh…think you left your Halloween decorations up, Doc," Proto commented as they walked up the drive.

"What Halloween decorations?" Dr. Wily's eyes raked his yard wildly before swiveling back to Proto. "Mind your own business."

"Um…okay."

Dr. Wily swung open the front door, which creaked like an old boxcar breaking. As they shuffled out of the cold and into the dark interior, Proto had an unpleasant shock when he discovered that the windows were completely blocked up from the inside, letting no real light in. All available space was jammed with cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling, even including the sink in the kitchen. Everything smelled musty, like an old library, and there were few furnishing and no decorations. Light bulbs hung naked from the ceiling, giving off an unpleasant glare and harsh shadows. It was obvious Dr. Light had never stepped foot inside Dr. Wily's house.

 _I am totally going to be murdered here,_ Proto thought. He watched Dr. Wily prowl around the thin aisles between boxes, muttering darkly to himself. _On second thought, I can take him._

Proto wondered with mounting suspense what on earth Dr. Wily would task him to do.

He didn't have to wait long. Dr. Wily pointed to a small desk with a swing arm lamp crammed into a corner of the living room.

"You are to copy all of my hand written notes into the computer database while I work," he growled.

Wow. That sounded incredibly boring. "…You're kidding, right? What about your lab work?" asked Proto.

"I told you, I do not need help. You're a lab assistant, so do as your told. Work time is from one to seven-o-clock, no breaks! And stay out of the basement!"

Proto's eyes flickered over to a closed door leading off from the kitchen.

"No problemo." Going into Dr. Wily's basement was the _last_ thing he ever wanted to do, the upstairs was creepy enough.

Dr. Wily sniffed, his nostrils flaring. "Now, I have important work to do. I trust you can handle this without supervision?"

Before Proto could answer, Dr. Wily swept away toward the basement door, closing it firmly behind him. Proto settled down at the desk, brushing an array of spider webs away with a tattered manilla folder. As he waited for Dr. Wily's old and noisy computer to boot up, Proto huffed resignedly and opened the first dusty box to the left of the desk and took out the stack of stapled papers sitting on top. It was a science article that Dr. Wily had annotated all over. He read the first note written in purple ballpoint pen, then did a double-take.

"…The hell?"

 _The fool who wrote this is little more than a baboon in a labcoat. Traveling inside dreams is possible, his simpleton research and technology just hasn't progressed far enough yet._

Proto flipped though the pages as the desktop loaded onto the screen, scanning Dr. Wily's notes with raised eyebrows.

 _Absolute and total control of the human mind can be achieved through the right frequency of music._

 _Luca Umlauf is a sellout hack with puerile inventions created for a insipid audience and lacks true initiative for greater genius._

 _Those who waste their time inventing etiquette droids are irredeemable nitwits._

Some pages, especially those containing studies on physics, were just blocked out with the words ' _Incorrect!'_ written at the top or ' _Any child would know this._ '

Shrugging, Proto typed everything word for word into the database, just as Dr. Wily would have wanted. It was less like academia and more like a high school girl's yearbook filled with all the notes she'd written about every classmate she didn't like—and Dr. Wily was asking him to copy it down for his official records.

A garish cuckoo clock, made entirely of metal and plastic, marked each hour loudly as an ugly black bird popped out of its front to cackle harshly like an old crone. At five to seven, Proto heard Dr. Wily stomp up the stairs to check in on his progress.

"Is that all you managed to accomplish?" he demanded, eyeing Proto's spreadsheet coldly.

Proto rocked onto the back two legs of his chair. He was surprised by how fast the time went by.

"Uh…yeah. Dr. Light doesn't exactly give me deadlines, so I took my time to make sure I got it just right," he said, giving Dr. Wily his best winning smile.

"Don't do that, you'll ruin my chair!" Dr. Wily snapped, pushing Proto roughly back onto all four chair legs with a _clunk._

"Do you really think traveling into _dreams_ is possible?" asked Proto.

Dr. Wily's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Are you making fun of me?"

"What? No." Well, sorta.

"The work here is far beyond whatever pathetic projects Dr. Light builds in his lab. This is _real work,_ real _science."_

"I can see that."

"You are a spoiled brat. It's absurd that Tom would waste so much time and effort into creating an 'advanced-android' when he instead could have been building a powerful robot or something equally as useful."

"I agree," said Proto, keeping a straight face.

Dr. Wily glared at him for a long time. "Don't be a smart-alec," he pronounced finally. "I don't know why I even bothered letting you look at my work, a privilege wasted on an ungrateful metal urchin like you."

Proto had indeed seen much of Dr. Wily's plans—grand-scale feats of improbable science like bouncing lasers and radiation-powered matter rearranges that required unheard of resources. "How are you getting money to pay for all of this?" he asked curiously.

"Mind your own business," Dr. Wily growled menacingly. He grabbed Proto's shoulder and yanked roughly (Proto was far stronger than Dr. Wily, and therefore could not be uprooted from his seat so easily). "Come! It's time for you to return to Light."

Proto allowed himself to be shooed back toward Dr. Wily's car like an unwanted vermin. A small part of him liked how Dr. Wily had called his creator 'Light' without the respectful 'Dr.' honorific. He rolled the notion around in his mind he drove Dr. Wily's cadillac away from the suburbs.

"Mind if I turn on the radio?" Proto asked after a few minutes of chilly silence.

"No drippy romantic mumbo-jumbo, no show tunes, no 'billboard's top 40', no doltish talk shows," Dr. Wily answered crisply.

Oddly specific list. Proto flipped through the stations until he found a familiar ensemble of electric guitar, bass, drums, trumpet, hammond organ and harmonica—wild, cool, and fearlessly improvising to a laid-back blues scale.

Dr. Wily looked up sharply at the station, then over at Proto.

"…Is this okay?" asked Proto, raising a brow.

"It's fine…Tom used to listen to music like this in at university."

It was like being jabbed in the gut with a hot poker. _I just started liking music, don't ruin it for me now, Wily,_ Proto thought in annoyance. He was relieved when Dr. Wily returned to ignoring him for the remainder of the trip.

"I just can't figure out _why_ Tom built you," Dr. Wily spoke up as they turned the road leading to Dr. Light's laboratory.

"Me neither," Proto responded without much interest.

"You don't have any special abilities—"

"Mmm."

"And your performance as a lab-assistant is as lackluster as a college flunkey."

"You don't say."

"It's just typical of him to build a robot just like himself."

Proto honed in on that last statement like a smoking gun. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You remind me of him a little."

 _…_ _What was that supposed to mean?_ Did Proto really resemble Dr. Light? Was Dr. Light's constant influence starting to rub off on him without him noticing? The thought was horrifying.

"So pompous and arrogant," Dr. Wily added drolly.

"You're getting on my last nerve," Proto warned him. He couldn't care less about the insults and harsh criticism—but this?

"I suppose having no natural successor, Tom had the soppy, sentimental desire to build _you_ to satisfy that role—"

Proto had heard enough. He stomped on the break, stopping the car with a jerk.

Dr. Wily cursed at him as he was flung forward in his seat, his laptop smashing against the glove compartment. "What the hell are you—?"

"I can walk from here. Bye," said Proto, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing outside into the cold night. He shut the door with a _bang_ that echoed across the fields.

"Don't slam my door, you pest!" Dr. Wily shrieked as he exited the car to dart around to the driver's side.

"I didn't slam it, if I had it would have totaled your car!" Proto called over his shoulder in annoyance.

"You really are a completely unremarkable machine," Dr. Wily snarled before shutting himself inside and locking the door.

Proto struck the front bumper with the bottom of his foot—not enough to dent it, but strong enough to shake the car. Dr. Wily laid his fist on the horn, blaring it loud enough to startle a few snoozing wrens off the telephone lines above. For a brief second, Proto considered grabbing a rock from the road and breaking one of Dr. Wily's headlights with it, but resisted the impulse. Dr. Wily dove in wide circle around Proto, kicking up powdered snow before revving down the road.

"Ooo, that'll show me," Proto muttered.

He stomped down the rest of the road to Dr. Light's driveway, glad to be rid of Dr. Wily, when he realized that he was heading toward the one place that he hated more than even Dr. Wily.

 _Hated,_ he thought detachedly.

* * *

"How was your day?" Dr. Light asked enthusiastically as Proto entered the lab, kicking off his snowy sneakers at the threshold.

"Yeah I don't think working with Dr. Wily is going to work out," he said, brushing past Dr. Light quickly.

Dr. Light followed him into the living room. "…What happened?"

"Uh—"

Should he really recount the fight and why he lost his temper to Dr. Light?

"—I dunno? He doesn't really seem to want a lab assistant. He made that super clear."

Dr. Light gave an understanding nod. "I know he can seem difficult at times…was working with him truly awful?"

" _Ehhh…"_ Dr. Wily was weird, but Proto couldn't take him seriously enough to classify the experience as awful.

"I will not force you to go, but you can learn a lot from Dr. Wily. Will you give him another chance?"

Proto shrugged. "Sure, whatever, what could it hurt?"

* * *

At Dr. Light's insistence, Proto had had a few more sessions with Dr. Wily, but they were not going well. Dr. Wily hated him, and seemed intent on making Proto feel as unwelcome as possible. Meanwhile, when Proto worked on the Dr. Light's laboratory, Eddie regularly checked in on him, pestering him with energy cans and words of encouragement, likely at the behest of Dr. Light. Between the three of them, he was getting no peace.

Then, just as he thought things couldn't get worse, he woke one morning in late December to a piercing mechanical cawing noise. It sounded like it was coming from outside.

"What the hell was that?"

He got up and dressed quickly, taking the stairs down to the laboratory. "Dr. Light, did you hear that?"

"Oh, that's just Pippi, a robot bird I invented to help wake us up earlier," said Dr. Light, turning a page in the New York City paper, the headline article reading _Holiday Shopping Interrupted by Citywide Crime Spree involving Bizarre Technology._

By 'us', Proto knew Dr. Light meant _you,_ as Dr. Light never had trouble waking up at the crack of dawn. "Dr. Light, you're going to drive me insane." he said seriously. "Stop building robots to help around the lab," he added, pleading. "They're okay, just—no more."

"Oh…" Dr. Light frowned, looking uncertain. He stood up, tucking the paper under his arm. "Well, I'll look into making some adjustments..."

Proto just sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. Every time Dr. Light tried to help, he made things _way_ worse.

Through all of this, Proto was feeling less and less like himself. Something dark was lurking under the surface, bursting to get out, and containing it was like shoving a lid down on an already over boiling pot, the pressure just kept on building, threatening to explode…

But he _had_ to control it. If Dr. Light ever saw this side of him, he'd never let Proto do anything on his own.

…But why was it up to Dr. Light anyway?

His thoughts fluctuated like his between self-doubt and resentment. Every now and then he caught himself fantasizing about breaking something again, like kicking in Dr. Light's supercomputer or smashing one of the oblong laboratory windows.

 _This is it. I'm snapping. This is how rogue robots are formed,_ he thought, thinking of news reports about industrial robots who went haywire then abandoned their jobs. But if he said anything out loud, Dr. Light would want to talk to him about it and he didn't want to talk to talk about it. He hated being angry all the time too, but he couldn't help it.

 _I'm not a bad person. Or robot. Whatever I'm suppose to be. I'm not bad,_ he kept telling himself.

* * *

"Oh, I see you've found some of my more other recordings."

Proto cringed. He had been working in Dr. Light's laboratory that day, and realized he had left one of the blues CDs in the CD player for Dr. Light to find when he returned home from the city. Dr. Light was smiling at it with a sort of fondness that made Proto want to jump into a trash compactor.

"Why do you like Beethoven so much? Why not any of this stuff?" he couldn't help but ask defensively.

Dr. Light gave Proto a startled look. "I do like this music," he said quietly.

"Why Beethoven then?"

"Well…" Dr. Light's brows furrowed. He replaced the blues CD with the disc he had played on Proto's activation day. _Für Elise_ filled the room _._ "Beethoven lead a troubling life filled with health problems, challenges, and unexpected tragedies," Dr. Light answered finally. "Yet, even at his darkest moment, he found a way to go on and keep creating beautiful music, his gift to mankind."

Dr. Light paused. Beyond the music, Proto noticed the stillness of the laboratory, the ticking of clocks, the specs of dust floating through sunbeams in the laboratory windows.

"I…have my own challenges," Dr. Light added with some reluctance. "My father died when I was young. I never knew my mother. I don't have close family, so I've always been alone, and helped through life by the kindness of friends and strangers."

Dr. Light said this briefly, with neither sadness nor resentment. It was clear he wanted to be honest with Proto, yet not burden him with his past. Still, it was quite a personal confession, and it made Proto uncomfortable. What was he supposed to do with this information?

Dr. Light didn't seem to expect Proto to comment. "I want to be the best I can be, like Beethoven, to create something that has a profound impact for generations to come. Not for fame or recognition, but to help mankind, just as I had been helped."

"I don't know if I want all that," Proto said finally. "To be the best person I can be, I mean."

"It's a lot for anyone to take on," Dr. Light admitted. He sighed. "I'm sorry if I seem hard on you. I just want you to be a good example."

"For what? ...Society?" Proto asked dryly.

"Well, not exactly for society…"

Dr. Light trailed off, seeming on the verge of saying something, but holding back. He looked over at Proto's collection of CDs. "Do you like rock and roll?" he asked finally with a sort of shy smile.

"It's alright," said Proto, somewhat relieved Dr. Light was dropping the previous subject. He returned to work, feeling slightly smothered by Dr. Light's personal philosophies.

In the background, _Für Elise_ was transitioning from its melancholy middle section to repeat its original theme.

* * *

That night, as soon as he was certain Dr. Light was asleep, Proto crept out of the laboratory. It hadn't snowed for days, and the road had been scraped and salted down to the concrete. Proto took off on foot down the road, running as fast as he could in the dark until he came to a crossroads. He turned left, kept running, until he came to a small train depot. Using spare change he had found in the laundry room of in Dr. Light's laboratory, he bought a ticket for the late night commuter train, sat in the very back away from everyone else, and an hour later was in the city.

It had been awhile since Proto had last snuck out, and it was like a huge weight was lifting off his shoulders. He had never been to the city alone before, nor at night. It seemed so much more alive…exciting even. The skyscrapers stood out in bright columns of light blue and yellow against the sky, the streets clear of their usual noisy traffic jam and grumbling pedestrians. Now that he was among humans, Proto walked slowly and carefully, so not to draw attention to himself—a little boring, but he had to pretend to be human and not end up on the news at all costs.

As many of the workplaces and tourists sites were now closed, there were less humans out on many of the streets, save for the ones at bars and restaurants.

"Dude, you want to come party with us?" a voice called from a group staggering through the streets and laughing drunkenly. "We're celebrating the fact that I just flunked out of the University of Robotics. But it's cool, I've got a contract with Fun World."

"Uh…no thanks," answered Proto as he watched one of the others puke into a gutter.

Proto walked alone, his hands in his pockets, occasionally inviting stares from passersby, as it was well below freezing and he was only wearing a light jacket.

After wandering aimlessly for nearly an hour, he came upon Central Park, which was slowly emptying out. It was too cold for most, leaving only a few couples meandering arm in arm while clutching cups of hot cocoa and admiring the string lights on the trees, or dog walkers out for a late night jog. Proto kept well away from everyone, preferring the paths no one was on.

Unconsciously, he realized he was retracing the route Dr. Light had taken him on during his first day in the city, and soon spotted the statue of Ludwig van Beethoven towering over him in the darkness.

It was the first time he had really looked at the figure of Dr. Light's muse. Ludwig stood with his shoulders back, quill in hand poised to write, his famously wild hair sweeping around his face which was frozen in time in moody rebellion, a fiery rage smoldering in his eyes. A human of unpredictable tantrums, who would slam his hands down on keyboard in dissonant frustration, disregarded social rank and refused to play for kings if it didn't suit him.

Proto stared at the statue, feeling things he couldn't describe or even understand. His head hurt, his hand clenched into a fist, and his shoulders began trembling as _Für Elise_ invading his processor circuits like a virus.

He looked around surreptitiously. The snow-dusted paths were deserted. Then he hopped the short fence encircling the statue, slowly reached up for the statues head, and gave a sharp twist.

There was a resounding crack like a gunshot. The neck had split in half, and the disembodied bronze head of Beethoven was slipping into Proto's arms.

"Hey, what was that?"

Proto's head snapped toward the voice—a robo-officer had heard the sound and had turned down the path to investigate. Proto turned on his heel and ran for it.

"You there, stop! STOP!" the robo-officer shouted after him.

Proto sped up. He cut across snow covered lawns, leaped over boney bushes, still carrying the head until he passed a wide lake that was just beginning to freeze around its edges. He tossed the head into the lake with a plop and ducked into the empty basin of a large fountain, snickering as he listened tot he robo-officer pound by, still shouting.

Then, after he was sure the robo-officer was long gone, Proto straightened up, climbed out of the fountain, and strolled casually the other way.

"Hey…what are you doing?" barked a second voice.

It was another police officer, this one human, and he was eyeing Proto suspiciously as walked briskly up to him, his breath coming out in white clouds.

"Making trouble."

"Don't be such a smart ass. There's a dangerous robot on the loose, my partner just saw him rip the head off a statue in the park."

"What, that one of Beethoven? Oh, what a shame."

The cop eyed him sharply. "Punks like you are the first to go. You ought to be more careful, there's been a lot of strange crimes involving robots in the city lately, more than I've ever seen in my ten years of being a police officer _._ Park closed ten minutes ago, go home, kid."

"You got it, officer."

Proto continued on down the path he had come from while the police officer stalked off. He smiled to himself, looking up at the night sky, clear but black and nearly starless from the city light's interference. Then he began to whistle softly, twirling the nightstick he had stolen from the police officer in circles before shoving it into the face of an incomplete snowman at the edge of the park, creating a new nose.

* * *

Proto woke the next morning with a uncomfortable weight back on his chest. What was the big deal? He had snuck out before.

…But this was bigger. He had gone into the city. And interacted with humans, taking on a big risk with his secrecy. And defaced a statue. And stolen a nightstick...from a police officer. But nothing really bad. Just...sorta bad. Besides, he had gotten away with it all, so what was his problem?

* * *

Dr. Light was standing in front of a blueprint he taped to the wall, holding a pointer and assuming his role as a teacher as he went over the next stages for constructing the mining drones. He had made some careful revisions to his original designs so that the drones would have a minimal impact on the environment as they drilled for minerals and ore. Proto sat slumped at a desk in front of him, feeling very much like a pupil waiting for the bell to ring.

"Dr. Light, what's the point of all this," Proto said finally when he couldn't take anymore. "This is almost as bad as the domestic drones. Why can't humans cook their own eggs? Why does someone else have to help them?"

"We are doing this to make the world a better place, no matter how small the task," Dr. Light responded calmly. "Of course, building these drones is just one idea how to accomplish this duty, but there are many ways to make a difference. Do you have any ideas?"

Dr. Light was trying to turn this into a teaching lesson. Proto responded with an answer calculated to get on Dr. Light nerves the most: "Nope."

Dr. Light dropped his hand holding the pointer. "I don't think that tone is called for."

Proto shrugged and yawned openly.

Even Dr. Light couldn't keep up his cheerful scholarly demeanor during this blatant disrespect.

"You've got to stop staying up so late," he said, finally becoming stern. "You are building bad sleeping habits."

"…So?"

"If you don't get a good night's rest, then you will be lethargic throughout the day."

"Fine, then I'll take a nap, problem solved."

Dr. Light was shaking his head. "That's not a good solution. A recommended eight hours of sleep at night is best. Your body is based off a human and you need to learn to take care of it."

Proto thought sardonically that he would have no problem getting eight hours if Dr. Light let him sleep in longer. _Don't human teenagers usually sleep until noon?_ He did not share this counterpoint with Dr. Light. After all, Dr. Light got so excited about anything he did that was remotely human, therefore Proto was determined to withhold any human traits his programming produced. He didn't want to be treated like a human child any more than he already was.

"Can't I make my own decisions?" Proto said instead. "Why give me self-determination if I'm not allowed to use it?"

Dr. Light blinked at him. "Having free will and being allowed to do whatever you want without consequence are two separate things—"

Proto cut him off stubbornly. "If you want me to act a certain way, why didn't you build just what you wanted in the first place, and call it 'Doc Man' or something."

"Proto, I would never do that—"

"Why not?"

"Because there is nothing wrong with you the way you are, and I'm not trying to force you to be a certain way."

Proto rolled his eyes. Dr. Light just didn't see it.

Dr. Light took a step toward Proto. "Let's talk about this."

"No, I don't want to talk."

"Proto, I really think we should talk—"

A flash of rage suddenly coursed through Proto like an electric jolt. "Or what? What are you going to do? Force me? Shut me down? Reprogram me? Replace my self-determination with standard obedience protocols?"

Dr. Light's lips parted soundlessly. Even Proto was shocked with what he had just said.

"Sorry, I'm just feeling a little crabby," mumbled Proto, feeling disoriented. "Maybe you're right, I need to get more sleep."

Dr. Light sighed, shaking his head with a trace of exasperation. "It's not always about following rules, you know. I'm only looking out for your well being."

"I know…I just…kinda lost my temper for a second there."

Proto started suddenly—Dr. Light had laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I know. It's okay," Dr. Light said softly. "You are at a tricky part in your life. Things—especially emotions—aren't always as clear as we'd like them to be."

Proto pulled away from him. "I'm alright, really…though if it's okay with you, I'm going to go upstairs and rest for awhile. I'll be back later to start work."

"Alright, Proto."

Proto went up to his room, but he didn't sleep. He lay on top of his bed, bits and pieces of his conversations with Dr. Light gnawing at his mind.

An hour later, there was a knock on the door, accompanied by Dr. Light's voice asking him if he wanted to come with him to the hardware store to pick up some spare parts. When Proto didn't respond, Dr. Light left, probably assuming Proto was asleep.

Proto waited until he heard the sound of the cadillac fade down the driveway, then got up and went back downstairs, feeling restless with pent up energy.

The laboratory was empty, Eddie was charging in storage. Dr. Light had absent-mindedly left on the CD player, which was playing _Beethoven's Complete Piano Trios, Volume 1_.

It happened quite suddenly. Without even consciously thinking about what he was doing, Proto had lifted the CD player above his head then threw it as hard as he could against the tile floor.

It smashed into bits, the lid cracking in half, _Beethoven's Complete Piano Trios, Volume 1_ shattering into shards. Proto stared at it dispassionately, a feeling of satisfaction burning inside him like a warm fire.

Then he blinked, coming back to himself quite suddenly as though the fire were doused by ice water.

 _Shit...what are you doing?_ he thought frantically as he scooped up the pieces of the CD player and placed them on a table. He had to fix this, _now…_ Dr. Light would be home soon. He grabbed a toolbox an began working, his pulsar pulse hammering.

Sure enough, Dr. Light arrived fifteen minutes later, shopping bag in hand. The CD player was perched on its usual spot next to Dr. Light's supercomputer, lightly playing _The Creatures of Prometheus_. The remains of _Beethoven's Complete Piano Trios, Volume 1_ had been disposed of, Proto would have to find some way to replace it later—or pretend it had been misplaced if its absence was noticed first first.

Dr. Light cast the CD player a quizzical look, but Proto had a hunch this was more because he had never walked into Proto willing listening to Beethoven. It was Proto's first time covering something up, and he was acting very guilty; Proto would have to work on that—someone less trusting than Dr. Light would definitely know something was up.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" Dr. Light asked, his dark eyes sweeping Proto's face searchingly.

"Nope, nothing special, just same ol' same ol'," said Proto, not looking up from a tangle of wires.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks."

Proto felt awkward for misleading Dr. Light this way, but that feeling faded as he remembered he wouldn't be angry in the first place if it hadn't been for Dr. Light's constant hovering and controlling behavior.

He thought back to his own programming: conscience, compassion, but mostly self-determination…the scary variable that could change everything about himself. He could become anything—including a robotic version of Dr. Light. Maybe that's what Dr. Light intended to happen all along, as though Proto was his masterpiece that he was still perfecting, like Beethoven and one of his symphonies.

 _I'm going one way, and Dr. Light wants me to go another. I might become something I don't like._

He _had_ to get out of here before he did something worse, like destroy the laboratory or something. Not to New York, too close to Dr. Light's laboratory. But there had to be somewhere else—anywhere else, all he needed to do was just _go._

But there were two facts getting in his way:

First, Dr. Light could get in real trouble if Proto were ever caught on his own. Despite Proto's growing bitterness for living in the laboratory, Dr. Light did not deserve that.

Secondly, what next? He'd be on the run, a rogue prototype robot. With no place to stay and no one to fix him and provide regular tune-ups if he ever became damaged, this would be tough. He could try to hide out by passing as human, but to pretend to be human the rest of his life? That wasn't much better than now.

…What was he going to do?

 _ **End of Month 3.**_


	5. Chapter 4: More Secrets

**Chapter 4: More Secrets**

Proto continued sneaking out every chance he could, pushing the boundaries of where he could explore in one night.

It was difficult. Proto could only stray so far and still have time to return to the laboratory before Dr. Light woke up. He also had to be careful with how little sleep he was getting. Since the last outburst Dr. Light had not confronted Proto about his sleeping habits, but he could tell Dr. Light was still worried whenever Proto pulled a secret all-nighter. Yet through determination, Proto was getting better at hiding his tracks.

It was now the year 1994. Snow became a near constant. Proto tied a bright yellow scarf around his neck, throwing a tail over his shoulder as he prepared to fetch the mail.

"Oh, I didn't notice this before. Did Dr. Wily give it to you?" Dr. Light asked, watching him from the hallway, a mug of coffee in his hand.

"Yup," Proto lied instantly.

Dr. Light smiled, touching the soft fabric gathered around Proto's neck admiringly. "It's very nice. Is yellow your favorite color?"

Proto thought this was a strange question. "I dunno. Maybe. Why?"

"I thought you might like red; you do wear it a lot."

Proto was annoyed at this unexpected attention to detail Dr. Light had shown, as though Dr. Light was prying inside his head. It didn't help matters that he happened to be wearing a red sweater. "Yeah, red's fine too," he said with unnecessary coolness. He preferred to keep a distance between them.

"So work with Dr. Wily is getting better then?" asked Dr. Light hopefully.

"Uh…" said Proto.

Dr. Wily was far from the type of person to give gifts. For the past week, he had continued assigning Proto to notes and other pointless busywork while he disappeared into his basement. Meanwhile, some of the equipment in Dr. Light's laboratory had gone missing. Dr. Light was bemused, yet Proto suspected Dr. Wily was pocketing things any time he was left alone to wander the laboratory, but he had a hard time motivating himself to care enough to accuse him.

"It's kinda the same," Proto admitted finally.

"Oh," said Dr. Light, looking disappointed. "Well, let me know if you no longer want to work there. I don't want you to be unhappy."

Proto just shrugged. The one silver-lining of Dr. Wily's extreme anti-social behavior was that, despite the creepiness of Dr. Wily's house, Proto could use his time alone to catch up on sleep (with the one drawback that he was usually woken up by Dr. Wily prodding him sharply on the head and grumbling about how if he had wanted a lazy slacker for an assistant, he would have picked up a dropout from a high-school). "I'll stick it out a little longer."

Proto pulled oh his coat and reached for the door knob, then paused, noting Dr. Light was wearing one of his best ties. "You're not ever going to take me around to these science fairs you go to in the city, are you?"

"Science _exhibitions_ , and no, you're a special case. I didn't build you for commercial purpose."

Though slightly relieved that he'd never be paraded around, Proto couldn't help but ask something that was constantly on his mind, "Then what did you build me for? What's the meaning of my life?"

"Ah, the meaning of life is a big question."

"Yeah, but...you had to have a reason for building me."

"Let's not talk about this right now."

"Why not?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. "I don't want you to rush into any decisions about your future. You are still growing," he said finally. It was Dr. Light's usual rebuttal anytime Proto asked about why he had been built.

* * *

Work in Dr. Light's laboratory continued at the same excruciating pace. Proto was about half way through the binder, and was supposed to be moving on to city utility drones, such as window cleaners, delivery couriers, and sales assistants, but he had instead flipped ahead to the part in Dr. Light's binder about flying robots. After leafing through a few pages, however, Proto found he fundamentally disagreed with everything Dr. Light had proposed. One day while he was working alone, Proto grabbed a red pen and began marking angrily through, nearly slicing holes into the paper with the force of his pen as he scribbled in corrections. Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers against the desk, thinking.

There were so many contradictions to his existence as an advanced-android. As a robot, he had to obey his creator, and that would never change. But he felt like he was programmed to want more than this.

 _Maybe I don't want to be some 'advanced-android' experiment. Maybe I want to be a Robot Master with a special ability and a purpose other than to sit in a lab all day listening to Beethoven and philosophize about things I couldn't care less about!_

What was the point in pretending to be human if he could do things humans couldn't?

At times, Proto felt acutely lonely, yet wouldn't wish this life on his worst enemy. He himself was only biding his time until he found a way to escape and wouldn't have to deal with Dr. Light or Dr. Wily again.

So far, he hadn't a clue what to do. He wasn't sure how much longer he could remain here without breaking down or going ballistic. He had managed not to destroy anything else, but it he felt like it was only a matter of time before he lost control again and did something really stupid.

"Keep it together, Proto," he muttered to himself as he shut the binder and pulled a bug-like window cleaner with suction-cup feet onto his work station. "You're not crazy yet…Though, talking to yourself is not a good sign."

* * *

It started off as another gray, cloudy day. Dr. Light dropped Proto off at Dr. Wily's house with a crate of trash compactor drones he wanted Dr. Wily to take a look at. It was heavy, and clanked noisily as Proto sidled through the screeching front door.

"Dr. Wily? …Dr. Wily?" he called, kicking snow off his boots.

There was no response. He couldn't hear anything either, except for the swinging pendulum of the garish cuckoo clock. Dr. Wily must be at work in his basement.

Proto rapped sharply on the basement door with his knuckles—still, no answer. He could wait for him up here, but that could take hours. Proto gave a heavy sigh, resigned to the fact that he'd have to go look for Dr. Wily in the dark, creepy off-limits basement.

Proto pushed the door open and began to descent the stairs, shifting the oversized box to better see their grungy, dimly lit steps. The staircase seemed much longer than that of an average house. He noticed his footfalls were beginning to echo. Just how big was this basement?

He finally reached the end of the stairs. Proto could hear the gentle clinking sound of someone working on machinery ahead. There was no door at the bottom, so Proto stepped easily over the threshold and into the interior of the basement.

Dr. Wily's laboratory was nearly the size of a barn. Computer banks hummed from the walls. An overhead map of New York City glittered with amethyst pins. To one side stood a line of drone endoskeletons with blaster arms, and a partially constructed tank and a helicopter with matching skeletal armor stood on another. Taking up an entire corner to itself was a skull the size of a small house, a laser cannon in its mouth, mounted on some sort of flying craft with short wings and a massive hover propeller. There were ominous machines of various sizes and disembodied warm mech parts, all very dangerous, very illegal, and very _deranged_. And at the center of it all was Dr. Wily, stooped over the guts of a massive laser cannon on a lab table, his face screwed up in concentration.

The box of parts slipped from Proto's hands and landed with a crash on the floor.

Dr. Wily jumped. He whirled to face Proto, his face turning the color of a radish, his eyes slits.

"I told you never to come down here…" he growled, gripping a screwdriver as though it were a knife.

"The door wasn't even locked— _Whoa_ …" replied Proto, still taking in the sights. "You're an underground arms dealer…You're the one on the news, the guy they've been trying to catch—"

Dr. Wily advanced on him, his teeth gnashed together. "Look you Light-brat, if you breath a single word—"

Proto looked over at Dr. Wily, "Hey, don't worry Doc…I won't tell anyone." He paused, thinking fast. "…I want a cut."

Proto wasn't sure what prompted him say it. At seeing the guns and paraphernalia, the beginnings of what looked like attack drones, and the ominous flying war machine, a strange feeling of impulsiveness had overtook him—the thing that had been lurking inside of him, threatening to explode, had slipped out, casually, as though invited—or more accurately, as if it _belonged._

"A _cut?_ " demanded Dr. Wily, his nostrils flaring.

"Yeah, a cut," Proto responded airily. He was making this up as he went, without agenda, still in shock and amazement of Dr. Wily's laboratory. The thing inside him was piloting now. There was a strange energy buzzing in his ears, an indescribable excitement, like a skydiver in an airplane, poised to jump. "So…you're a mad scientist…" he added, eyeing Dr. Wily's inventions.

But Dr. Wily had reached into his pocket and whipped out strange device that looked a bit like a price scanner. He pointed it at Proto and squeezed its trigger, and the device emitted an ultrasonic frequency.

Proto froze like a deer in headlights. He hadn't even dodged the device's effects.

Dr. Wily's mouth twisted into sinister smile.

"You will obey _me_ now; it is I who will call the shots," he crowed triumphantly. "I do not need such a harmless, everyday domestic robot in my army…still, you may have your uses as a spy on Light."

"...Think you forgot to load the ammo, Doc."

Dr. Wily's eyes bulged, making him kinda look like a muppet. "Don't you speak back to me! I am your master now!"

Proto felt this statement couldn't be further from the truth, and snickered.

Dr. Wily's look of triumph was dissolving into shock. "But why isn't it working?" he hissed. "My protocol-disruptor always works!"

"Your what?" Proto asked curiously.

Dr. Wily looked from the device in his hand to Proto in complete panic.

"It's an invention to reprogram robots to my will—yet, it failed on you—but of course…your self-determination…"

He edged away toward his stack of inventions, his face darkening with fury again.

Proto held up his hands. "Let's take a step back—you don't get trigger happy with any of your other gizmos, and I won't knock you out cold with a monkey wrench and call the police, 'kay?"

Dr. Wily stopped moving. "What do you want?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Fifty-fifty split."

" _Fifty-fifty?_ Has your processors cracked?"

"Seems fair. Of course, I _could_ tell Dr. Light about this. He always asks how my days go over here—"

"Alright, alright! Fine! I can't believe I'm being blackmailed by Light's little brat—"

"Name's Proto. …And stop stealing stuff from Light's lab."

Dr. Wily drew himself up to his full height. "How _dare_ you—"

"Wily, I can see the missing equipment from Dr. Light's lab _right there._ I built half of it myself."

"Fine! I don't even want it anyway! Useless junk," spat Dr. Wily. He stared at Proto in white hot fury. "You will regret this…"

"Hard to say," answered Proto carelessly. He took a few more steps toward the large skull machine. "Does it fly?"

 _"_ _Of course it flies—"_

Proto whistled. Then he caught sight of an odd looking firearm with a bulbous cartridge and a barrel shaped like a radio antennae. "What's this, does it fire?" he asked, picking it up.

He accidentally squeezed the trigger, and the gun went off—vaporizing a file cabinet.

Proto jumped. "Holy shit!"

"Yes of course it fires, you metal idiot!" Dr. Wily snarled, rushing over and switching on the safety. He tried to yank the gun from Proto's hand, but Proto resisted quite easily, though kept the safety on and the barrel pointed to the floor. He roamed around the room, examining the machine and asking about their uses. Dr. Wily trailed him at first like an angry goose, hissing and attempting to hide his work, but slowly his rage began to cool, clearly enjoying the attention Proto was showing his inventions.

The exploration of Dr. Wily's laboratory was interrupted by a noise that sounded something like an old church-bell ringing. Proto looked up. "What the hell was that?"

"My doorbell."

"Geeze, Doc…"

"It's my neighbor. I should vaporize that nosey twit—"

"Hang on, I'll take care of it."

Proto darted up the stairs two at a time as the door bell continued to peel in a dreary, dramatic fashion. It was accompanied by a muffled pounding, as though someone were trying to beat down the door.

"Hey! Heeeeyyyy!" called a shrill, angry voice.

Proto flung open the door. "Hiya," he greeted cheerily.

Outside stood an elderly woman in snow galoshes and a down parka. "Oh." The woman blinked owlishly at him through thick cat-eye glasses with a beaded spectacle cord. "Hello," she answered in a meek, confused voice. "Um…are you a relation of Mr. Wily?"

"He's my uncle," Proto invented. "Good ol' Uncle Al."

"Well, he's been making a lot of noise as of late," the woman responded tartly. "Wakes up my dog at night with his racket, and I've had enough. He needs to keep quiet or I'll alert the neighborhood association of his behavior."

"I know, I know!" said Proto sympathetically. "I'm going to be moving in for awhile to keep an eye on him. Won't happen again, _I promise._ "

"Oh good, you look normal," answered the woman, looking him over. "And, I hate to ask you this, but will you do something about this yard? It's a pigsty, skeletons and pumpkins, why I never—"

"You got it."

"And it's not just the noise—this house emits strange lights and weird smells—it's like living next to a firework factory—"

"Sure, I'll get on it," said Proto, attempting to close the door. "Have a nice day."

"Wait, I have a whole list of very serious complaints—" called the woman irritably.

"And I'll get to them, but for now I'm still settling in."

Proto shut the door, locking and dead-bolting it, and turned around to find Dr. Wily glaring daggers at him.

"I am _not_ your uncle, you are not moving in, and I am not removing the skeletons from my front yard," Dr. Wily said obstinately.

"Yeah, I clearly made half of that stuff up to make her go away," said Proto dryly. "Listen. You are about a week away from getting busted. It's way too obvious that you're evil. I don't even know how you've lasted this long."

"I am much more clever than those imbeciles," Dr. Wily said haughtily.

"I know, humans are idiots," said Proto, "But even idiots will eventually catch on to whatever it is you are doing. If you're going to keep going, you're going to need my help."

"Your help?" Dr. Wily scoffed. "You don't know the first thing about what I'm trying to do—"

"When's the next time you're doing a crime spree?" Proto interrupted.

"You're not coming."

"Yes, I am," said Proto firmly. "...We just need a good cover story for Dr. Light."

* * *

When Proto left Dr. Wily's laboratory that day, he was feeling oddly good, better than he had ever felt. Proto didn't know what Wily was planning, but he didn't really care either. He'd just have a little fun before steering Dr. Wily out of whatever he was trying to do. After all, how often did one get a chance to tag-along on a criminal heist?

"Hey, uh…Dr. Light. Did Dr. Wily call you about the new project he wants me to help him with?" he asked later that evening as Dr. Light sat in the atrium, reading a journal on paleontology. It had taken some badgering to get Dr. Wily to agree to this, and he was concerned Dr. Wily might not have actually followed through.

To his relief, Dr. Light looked up from an article on _theropods_ and nodded. "He mentioned that he had some new ideas for aerospace engineering, and wanted assistance with some nighttime experiments involving stargazing. That sounds very interesting," Dr. Light said slowly. "But Proto, is that something you'd like to do?"

He could tell Dr. Light was nervous about letting his prototype spend the night away from the laboratory for the first time, even at another roboticists house. It was annoyingly protective instincts like this that could become hurdles.

"Yeah, it sounds really cool. I think I'll learn a lot," said Proto, giving Dr. Light his best smile. "Dr. Wily has a spare bedroom and everything for me to spend the night."

"Well…alright," said Dr. Light reluctantly. "Just be sure to call me if you need me for any reason, no matter the time of night."

Proto's insides did an excited backflip. Dr. Light was buying it! "Of course, though you don't have to worry. We'll be careful."

* * *

The night of the planned criminal activities, Dr. Wily was agitated. He had already told Proto off several times for minor infractions, such as 'asking too many questions' and 'looking too excited.' Proto was not at all put off by this behavior—he expected Dr. Wily to act like this as he was still deadset on discouraging Proto from coming at all.

"You can't show up in a t-shirt and jeans," said Dr. Wily critically. "I'll look ridiculous, like I'm hiring some college prep. Wear this instead." He thrusted a bundled up suit into Proto's hands. "And keep your mouth shut. You are to be my secret bodyguard."

"Cool," said Proto. He could tell Dr. Wily was clearly trying to give him the most demeaning job he could think of. Joke was on Dr. Wily though, Proto thought being a secret bodyguard would be fun.

Proto changed into the cheap suit (which was dirt brown and smelled like it had been buried in a storage bin for the last few decades) without complaint, leaving the clothes from Dr. Light's laboratory and his yellow scarf tucked under a desk. Then they got into Dr. Wily's purple Cadillac and headed down the snowy streets toward the New York City.

Dr. Wily directed Proto to park under an overpass of a monorail in a part of the city Proto had never seen before. He noticed the buildings seemed to be run down, businesses closed and boarded up, many of the street lights and phone booths out of order, and not a police officer in sight.

Dr. Light had never taken Proto here—and with good reason. It was clearly a dangerous haven for criminals to gather and do trade: New York City's criminal Underground. Proto was fascinated. Many of the humans were wearing long trench coats and fedora-style hats pulled over their eyes as they bustled about quickly. There were crates of boot-legged electronics, dark storefronts containing heaps of robo-drone parts for sale at suspiciously low prices, abandoned buildings with broken windows, a truck in an alleyway that looked like it was stocked with laser guns, a brightly lit casino with scrubbed sidewalks and clean windows that Dr. Wily took them a block out of their way to avoid—Proto even thought he saw a few shifty looking rogue robots, but they quickly disappeared into buildings before he had gotten a good look.

"Stop gawking about like a tourist lost on Time Square, you're going to get us jumped," Dr. Wily growled as he steered Proto down the street.

"Sorry," muttered Proto. He noticed they were being eyed by two burly men in flat caps loitering next to a windowless van. He watched Dr. Wily out of the corner of his eye, and copied his facial expression—as if this experience was nothing new or interesting, it was _normal._

Sometime later they entered a safe house to meet with two criminal associates Dr. Wily had been consorting with to achieve funds.

The first man was Charlie Rojenko, a wealthy and seedy art collector. He wore a brown suit and a small felt hat, and had a slightly nervous disposition. It was clear he had never directly committed a dangerous crime himself, however his hunger for priceless artifacts was unsatable. The safe house belonged to Rojenko, and was filled with an impressive horde of stolen art pieces, such as antique carriage clocks, creepy taxidermy of endangered species, vivid abstract oil paintings that somehow gave an unsettling impression of violence, elegantly carved curio cabinets packed with delicate porcelain figurines, ancient pottery, and peeling volumes of old text hand written in calligraphy.

The second associate was aggressive hustler named Phillip "Bullet Phil" Caprice. He looked to be in his forties, with a face full of scars like a tree a bear used as a scratching post. He had an oiled mustache and greased hair, a short, bossy voice, the stub of a cigar hung from his mouth, and a black bowler cap perched over his coal-black eyes. Proto would not have been surprised if Bullet Phil had once killed someone.

In the grand scheme of things, both criminals were small time.

Dr. Wily, Bullet Phil, and Rojenko were discussing an upcoming heist: a miniature spear carved of ruby was going up for auction soon from a private collection. Both Rojenko and Bullet Phil had stakes in this—Bullet Phil wanted to sabotage the auction, which was being held by an enemy of his, meanwhile Rojenko wanted the ruby spear for his collection of carved gemstone cocktail picks. Proto hovered in the background, casually pretending to be checking out Rojenko's collection while listening in intently (Rojenko kept a wary eye on Proto, asking him not to touch anything).

"For this, I will pay a twenty percent advance on the amount you requested during our last meeting," Rojenko promised Dr. Wily.

"And I'll arrange for another shipment of super steel to fall off the back of a truck," added Bullet Phil, his cigar wagging up and down as he spoke.

"Hmm…that trinket is heavily guarded," mused Dr. Wily. "It will require some planning…"

"Let's steal it tonight," Proto suggested.

Three heads snapped toward him. Rojenko looked surprised, his eyebrows receding up into his felt hat as he dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. Bullet Phil was eyeing him narrowly under his bowler cap. Dr. Wily glared at him beadily, as though he'd like nothing more than to reach over and strangle him. _"Tonight?"_ he hissed.

"Why not? Sounds easy," shrugged Proto. He looked over at Rojenko. "We'll steal it for you tonight for a _fifty_ percent advance, how does that sound?"

"Who are you, kid?" Bullet Phil asked, fishing out a packet of matches from his coat pocket.

"Joe—" Proto began.

It had been on the tip of his tongue to finish with 'Schmoe' but Dr. Wily had just shot him a warning glare as if reading his mind. Meanwhile, Bullet Phil struck a match to light the cigar, which had gone out.

"—Striker,' Proto finished instead. "And I'm not a kid, I'm thirty-eight."

Bullet Phil looked him over, puffing on his cigar, rings of smoke wafting toward them with a sort of sickly sweet perfume. "Hmmph."

Rojenko gave a nervous cough, looking Proto up and down dubiously. "I think someone with more experience—"

"No, let's let this hot shot try it," overrode Bullet Phil. "But if you get caught, you're on your own, kid."

* * *

Working in Dr. Light's laboratory the next day was awkward. Reports of Proto's criminal exploits had spread like wildfire, and was now all over the front page of Dr. Light's newspaper and on the daily news, which Dr. Light had turned on in the laboratory on the overhead screen of a machine he called 'the emergency satellite scanner', something he had never used before.

Proto was unsuccessfully trying to find a balance of being interested in the news as though it literally was news, but not _too_ interested as though he had a guilty conscience. Every time an update to the developing story scrawled across the screen, he couldn't help but glance nervously over at it, hyper aware of every detail being reported. _Crap, what if the cops find security footage of my face? I was being careless._

He wasn't sure why he had done it. It had all happened so fast, so naturally, one thing leading to another—like dominos falling in a line. It had been fun—no, _exhilarating,_ despite the close calls with an emergency alarm going off unexpectedly, the confrontation with a security drone, a narrow escape through a balcony window, the chase through the network of New York City's alleyways, hiding out at a subway station as he waited for the heat to die down...

But now here he was, his pulsar pulse hammering in his ears. It was as though the danger hadn't truly passed even after successfully handing over the gemstone cocktail pick to Rojenko's eagerly outstretched hands while Dr. Wily greedily accepted a fat wad of bills from Bullet Phil.

Dr. Light was also watching the news raptly. He kept 'hmmming' to himself and stroking his beard, then glancing thoughtfully over at Proto.

Finally, Dr. Light stood. Proto didn't look up at him, pretending to be completely intent on wiring a diving bot, but his insides tightened as he listened to Dr. Light's soft footfalls draw closer. _Oh shit, he knows…he knows!_

"Let's turn this off," said Dr. Light, switching the monitor off with a remote. "It's okay this sort of thing bothers you, it bothers me too." He gave Proto's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "But don't worry, they will catch whoever is responsible, mark my words."

Proto looked up at Dr. Light's face. "Yeah…criminals always get caught," he said weakly.

"I am just glad you and Dr. Wily were safe and far away from the city."

"Yeah, uh, me too."

Dr. Light smiled at him, then leaned closer to inspect the fish shaped robot Proto was working on. The topic of previous night's crime spree did not come up again. Slowly, Proto began to relax. He wondered why he was even worried in the first place.

 _Dr. Light believes in the goodness of mankind...that just because I have conscious, comparison, and self-determination, that I won't do anything bad._

But Dr. Light never took into account that Proto didn't _like_ being good. It was a fact Proto was currently grappling with himself. He shouldn't do this again. It was stupid, he'd never get away with it in the long run, he was gambling a lot, including what little freedom he had—but at the same time, he couldn't _wait_ for his next crime. He currently had a clean slate—the risk was just the same as it had been before.

"Hey, Dr. Light…you know that stargazing project I'm working on for Dr. Wily?" Proto asked, keeping his voice casual and not looking at Dr. Light in the eye. "It was a lot of fun. I think I'm going to do it again."

"Oh really? I'm glad to hear it," said Dr. Light brightly.

It was easy, too easy. Proto was almost offended—almost.

* * *

As January continued on, Proto kept conveniently forgetting that he was supposed to be talking Dr. Wily out of committing crimes. _Next time, next time_ …he thought with no real conviction. At Dr. Light's laboratory, he felt bored and short tempered, about to snap…but committing crimes he felt happy, free, relaxed, _himself_.

Meanwhile, the missions kept escalating. First, he was stealing paintings for Rojenko out of private, unguarded residences, then it was museums with security systems for Bullet Phil, then banks with armed guards for Dr. Wily. And he was getting better at it, too. There were less close calls—it was turning into a game.

He didn't ask questions like 'Why rob valuables for Rojenko when we could just save time by robbing Rojenko himself.' An extreme recklessness had overtaken him. He just wanted to enjoy the moment they were in, and not worry about the future or how easily this could all come crashing down upon them like a house of cards.

Though Dr. Wily didn't admit it out loud, he was pleased with Proto's work. He had given him a new space in the basement, which was much nicer than the one he previously had had upstairs (Dr. Wily treated the upstairs, Proto realized, more like an attic than a house, which explained its hoarder-like appearance) There was even a sofa, which was a bit stiff from lack of use, but comfortable. They spent most of their time now together, plotting out new places to rob.

Occasionally, Proto felt a twang of guilt from his conscience, warning him to pull back before it was too late—but it was frequently checking out, like a half-forgotten memory, giving up the fight to his self-determination. He'd _never_ be happy being a lab-bot working for Dr. Light. It was unnatural to who Proto wanted to be. He wasn't sure how long advanced-androids lived, anyway. One, two years, maybe three years tops? So why not make the most of it?

Working in Dr. Light's laboratory felt like a prison. It was weird for Proto to think back to a time he didn't consciously think about how much he hated it here—he counted down every minutes until he could be working for Dr. Wily again. But it was vital to keep up some amount of lab work to avoid Dr. Light's suspicion. If Dr. Light found out what he was really doing for Dr. Wily, he'd force Proto to stop. Dr. Wily wasn't ready for him to go full time. And Dr. Light was happier not knowing, Proto reasoned—and this way, he wouldn't be an accomplice either.

Yet the more Dr. Light didn't notice that Proto wasn't really spending his nights away working on space engineering projects for Dr. Wily, the more acutely Proto felt the distance between them grow.

Proto whistled as he worked on tube-like drone that was designed to slide across high tension power lines and help clear fallen trees during power outages. Despite being stuck working in Dr. Light's laboratory that day, he was feeling pretty good about himself. He had just recovered some contraband weaponry for Dr. Wily out of the evidence locker of the police station, whose disappearance hadn't been reported yet.

Dr. Light was sitting across the laboratory from him working in spreadsheets on his supercomputer.

"I'm glad to see you in such a good mood, your project with Dr. Wily must be going well," he called over.

This sentiment irritated Proto. "Going really well," he said. He had been feeding Dr. Light false tidbits of what he and Dr. Wily had been doing. Dr. Light was very interested in his work, especially as Proto kept asking for more time away, and Proto kept having to come up with more creative excuses for why he and Dr. Wily needed to work alone. He wasn't sure what he'd do once Dr. Light inevitably asked to see his work or worse yet, tag along—burn down Dr. Wily's laboratory to hide the evidence he supposed.

"Proto, I've been wondering…have you thought more on crime fighting?"

"Uh…no."

Proto hadn't expected this subject to ever come up again. He thought back to all the things he had stolen within the last twenty-four hours and all the things he planned to do in the upcoming week. _I think I can safely rule that out,_ he thought, smirking. That long forgotten ambition seemed to belong to someone else, a naive twerp who hadn't seen much of the world yet.

"Oh…are you sure? You seemed so keen on it before," said Dr. Light, gazing at him curiously over his computer.

"Yup, I'm good. Couldn't be happier with the way things are."

Would Dr. Light take a hint?

Dr. Light stroked his beard. Proto couldn't tell if Dr. Light was relieved or not. _It should make you happy that I don't want to do anything dangerous anymore,_ Proto thought irritably.

"Perhaps you've found a new interest," said Dr. Light seriously, spinning on his chair to face Proto. "You are not so mysterious as you think you are."

"Oh?" This wiped the smirk off Proto's face, his circuits freezing as though suddenly turned to lead. He accidentally snapped the circuit board he had forgotten he was holding as his hand closed into a fist. Hastily he dropped the broken bits into a trash can under his worktable. He really needed to get his facial expressions under control. If Dr. Light only partially suspected what he was doing for Dr. Wily…

"You like flying. I could see it in the notes you made in the binder," said Dr. Light brightly. "And you've always paid the utmost attention to any exhibit involving aviation, which I believe is why you've taken to Dr. Wily's aerospace engineering project."

Proto flipped from anxiety about discovery back to annoyance at Dr. Light's cluelessness. He hated when Dr. Light attempted to probe his thoughts. He always got it all wrong. How had Dr. Lights picked up his interest in flight from scribbled out notes, yet missed all the angry bitterness and resentment tangled up in them?

"I was thinking we could start working on the flying drones next," Dr. Light continued. "I was saving them for later as they are more advanced, but I can see you are ready. You have really good ideas, I never knew you could design so well."

"Gee, that'd be _swell_ , Doc," Proto said with affected bravado.

Dr. Light gave him a small smile. "It's funny to here you say 'swell.' I use to say that when I was younger."

"Guess I'm taking after you then," he said, imitating Dr. Light's smile.

Dr. Light's smile faded slightly. Proto might have overdone it—Dr. Light seemed to have picked up some of his false sincerity. _Good,_ Proto thought grumpily.

Dr. Light looked as though he were about to reply, when Eddie came scampering into the room, squealing out a bugle call and pelting a drink at Proto. After the commotion had cleared, the conversation was forgotten and both went back to their work.

"By the way…have you seen the servo voltage stabilizers I had ordered last week?" asked Dr. Light. "We seem to be missing a couple."

Proto shrugged. "I thought there were only four."

"I believe I had ordered a set of six last week."

"Gee…that's weird."

"You don't suppose some might have been misplaced?"

Proto shrugged. "Dunno what to say, I was the only one here."

Dr. Light gave him a funny look, but didn't press the matter. "Hmm, well perhaps there was a mistake."

 _Geeze, Doc…put two and two together. Quit being so oblivious._

But for some reason, Dr. Light would never, ever, _ever_ accuse him.

Proto glanced over at Dr. Light, measuring him. "Hey, Doc…if I did something really bad, would you lock me up? Send me to prison or whatever the robot equivalent to that is?"

"Of course not…you are my responsibility," said Dr. Light. He lifted his eyes from his computer to look at Proto.

Proto turned his head, dodging his gaze as he installed the power-line drone's power core. "No, let's say I deserved it."

"Proto…why are you talking like this? What's wrong?"

Proto just lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

Dr. Light gave Proto a knowing smile. "Oh, Proto…you are _not_ a bad person. That is the way the human mind works. We think see so many possibilities in any situation. But being able to distinguish right from wrong is what makes us human, capable of judgment: Conscience."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay."

And Proto smiled back.

* * *

Proto continued doing Dr. Wily's dirty work, no longer thinking about quitting. The news reports of his crimes kept building. The police were baffled—it was a threat they couldn't understand or counter, crimes they couldn't trace back to neither human nor robot—obviously, the police had never had to contend with an advanced-android before.

One night at Rojenko's safe-house, Bullet Phil had overheard Proto complain to Dr. Wily that the missions were getting so easy that they were boring. He beckoned to Proto for a private word as Dr. Wily collected the payment for a monkey statue Proto had stolen for Rojenko (Proto never saw what Dr. Wily was doing with all this money Proto was earning for him, nor did he ever ask).

"Hey listen, Joe. You're new to crime—Don't argue!" said Bullet Phil, holding out his hands (he was missing the ring and pinky finger on his left hand, which looked like they had been cut clean off with a knife) "I can tell. Why don't you ditch bozo the clown and work for me full time. I'll pay you decent, give you meatier work that's worth your while."

Proto was not remotely tempted by this offer for a variety of reasons—the most important of which was that while he did not trust Dr. Wily any more than either of these human criminals, no one except Dr. Wily knew Proto was really a robot, and humans rarely treated robots with the same amount of respect a roboticst would. "Sorry, the Doc and I are kinda a package deal. I work for him, and him alone."

"Okay, but you think about it. In the meantime, I got a special job that I think you'd be perfect for...if you're up for a challenge."

"Yeah, sure, I'll do it," Proto volunteered instantly.

Bullet Phil's bloodshot eyes bored into him from under his bowler. He was puffing on his smelly cigar. "It'll be dangerous," he added seriously.

"Cool."

"…You'll really do anything, huh?"

"So long as it involves lots of action and excitement and gets Wily his money…yeah."

Bullet Phil gave Dr. Wily a sidelong glance as though checking to make sure Dr. Wily were out of earshot. "…Have you heard of 'The Syndicate?'"

"Nope."

Bullet Phil stopped puffing on his cigar and smiled broadly.

* * *

From what Proto could gather, the Steel Crescent Syndicate was the most feared criminal mob in New York City. They controlled the casino called the 'Cleopatra', which was the only place Dr. Wily avoided more than the police headquarters. The Syndicate was supposedly comprised of the most powerful Robot Masters on this side of the law. Known by few, the Syndicate's presence was often felt rather than seen like the chill before a deadly frost—that was, other than the crudely carved crescents they left as warnings to those who displeased them.

Proto didn't know enough about organized crime to be intimidated by any of this. He just couldn't take it seriously. To him, it sounded a bit like tales of the boogey man under the stairs. Dr. Wily did not like what Proto was about to do at all, no matter how much Bullet Phil was offering to pay them (the last four of Bullet Phil's lackeys that had tried what Proto was about to do had all abruptly disappeared). As usual Proto was warned that if he got caught it a bad situation, he was on his own.

Proto traveled by foot to the address Bullet Phil had given him, which was close but not quite within the criminal underground. It was by far the nicest building on the block, with the same scrubbed sidewalks and spotless, blast-proof floor-to-ceiling windows of the Cleopatra. Proto entered a double sliding door to an austere, modern-style lobby with white tile and indirect lighting. In was undecorated and barren, save for a few white furnishings and an elevator with no outside call buttons, and a heavy, plain back door without a handle. It reminded Proto of a stage set whose details hadn't been completed yet. It was unsettling, even without knowing that this building was owned and operated by a mob and purportedly home to a dangerous Robot Master.

But he saw no robots or even any human gangsters. The only other soul in the lobby apart from himself was a young, thin human with jet black hair and rimless glasses sitting behind a plain desk with a computer and phone. He was fairly handsome in a sharp, 'dressed to intimidate' sort of way business professionals in the city adopted, yet had the somewhat vacant expression of someone who did not have a lot going in his head.

The human looked up at Proto, his pale eyes sweeping up and down from head to toe, lingering for a fraction of a second on his scuffed shoes, the shoulder pads of his suit, and his unbuttoned collar.

Proto strode up to the desk confidently. "Hey…I'm looking for the Syndicate."

The human's eyes came to rest on Proto's face and he blinked slowly. "The what?"

"The Syndicate."

The human made a minute shrug. "Sorry, I've never heard of it," he said blankly.

Proto blinked, wondering if he had the wrong building. He studied the human for a moment. Realizing the vacancy he had first detected was merely a mask, Proto smiled brightly at the human.

"No guards? That seems a little gutsy for the secretary of America's biggest mob."

The human did not seem perturbed by what could be perceived as both an accusation and threat. On the contrary, an ice-like stillness was setting into his face, the mask-like indifference fading. His voice became nasally and incredibly snide. "I'm not a secretary, and I work for Fulmen Financial."

With a red gloved hand, he pointed at the sign on his desk, which was neatly engraved in elegant serifs with 'Fulmen Financial' underneath the heading 'Mr. Smith.'

 _"_ _Riiiight,"_ said Proto, still smiling at who he presumed was Smith. "You can save the act, wiseguy. I know this is the New York headquarters for Syndicate."

"Prove it," Smith said simply.

"…Is that how it's going to be?"

It looked like Proto had met his match in terms of blatant deflection. Smith was wrinkling his nose at him as though he was something strange and dirty that had wandered in to waste his time. "If you do not have an appointment, please leave."

"How do I get an appointment?"

Smith smiled coldly. " _You_ can't."

Proto considered his options. As a robot, he could easily terrorize this skinny, pencil pushing human into giving him whatever he wanted. Syndicate or not, the human was just a middle man, and not a very strong one. However, this wasn't really Proto's style. He'd play it nice…for now.

Smith was watching him over his rimless glasses. Proto had captured Smith's momentary curiosity, who seemed to be toying with ideas of when and how to throw Proto out, and Proto planned to take advantage of his attention.

"Listen, Mr. Smith—Smith isn't your real name, is it?"

"Of course not."

"Whatever. I'm looking for an investor in a start up me and my partner are creating," said Proto. Bullet Phil had told him to try to get past the man at the desk and steal as much inside as he could before getting caught—however Proto decided to go off script, see if he could strike a deal with the 'Big Bad Syndicate', which could lead to more interesting crime opportunities than what Rojenko and Bullet Phil were coming up with. "I'd like to have a chat with your boss, or at least the Robot Master in charge here—" Proto said hopefully.

"My boss is not interested."

"Pardon?"

"I said he's not interested."

Proto glanced pointedly at the phone. "But you haven't even checked—"

Mr. Smith smiled condescendingly.

Proto paused, then changed tack. "Hear me out. My partner, Dr. Wily, builds robots—"

"Haven't heard of him," Smith cut him off. "The Syndicate doesn't do business with second-rate amateurs. It's ran by people much smarter than Mr. Willy."

"Wily."

"Whatever." Smith scrunched up his nose. "…Is his surname really Wily?"

"Yes. …I think," answered Proto. To be honest, he really had no idea.

"And your name is?"

"Eric McEricson," Proto invented promptly.

"No it's not," said Smith, looking annoyed.

"It's the name I'm going by here, 'Smith.'"

"Smart." Smith's voice lowered. "I don't know how you heard of this place, but leave. _Now."_

It sounded like a warning. Proto had never been in a real fight before, and didn't want to trigger a confrontation on his first visit.

"Alright, chill out, I'll let you guys think it over. You will let the Robot Master in charge know I was here?"

"He knows," said Smith.

"Oh." Proto unconsciously glanced around the scant lobby, but couldn't see any cameras. Perhaps there was a hidden one, or perhaps this was a weird intimidation tactic. "Well, later…Smith," he said, turning to leave and feeling wholly unconcerned.

* * *

Despite not accomplishing much, Proto felt pretty good after leaving 'Fulmen Financial'. He had survived his first meeting with the Syndicate, a feat that impressed his criminal cohorts, much to Proto's amusement. He was beginning to get a reputation—of what, he didn't really know or care.

But returning to Dr. Light's laboratory felt like slowing down as though trudging through quicksand. He was bored. He hated sneaking around and pretending to be good, and became short tempered and testy.

Dr. Light seemed to have noticed Proto's listlessness and was attempting to re-engage him in work around the laboratory with the promised flying drone projects, but Proto was only half tuned in, thinking about what he would be doing next for Dr. Wily.

They were working on a simple propeller drone the size of a baseball cap that could carry parcels up to fifty times its weight. Dr. Light listed all the practical uses this type of drone could have.

"You know, when I was thinking flying, I was thinking more like the world's fastest jet and stuff," Proto admitted with the first real shred of honesty he had had with Dr. Light in a long time "Not helper-bots." He nodded pointedly at where Pipi was roosting on top of an overhead computer monitor.

Dr. Light, who was fixing optical circuits onto the drone, looked up at him. "Yes, there is a certain amount of satisfaction one can derive from breaking records. But there are also so many ways aviation has helped mankind, and can continue to do so."

Proto put screwdriver down on the table a little more forcefully then he meant to. He didn't care about breaking records _or_ helping mankind, he just wanted to fly one.

"But why? Humans aren't that great," pointed out Proto. "No offense, but some are even jerks."

Dr. Light jerked as though he had been doused in ice cold water. He set his work tools down as well. "Proto, why would you say such a thing?"

"Because it's true."

"Well, yes, not everyone acts as their best self, but it is our goal to show a better way—"

"Why? Why is that our responsibility?" persisted Proto. "Why bother with them when we can look out for ourselves and focus on the things _we_ want to do?"

Dr. Light was frowning. "Because it's selfish—"

"So? It's what everyone else is doing."

"That's not true—"

"It's true for a lot of them. The world is full of bad people," said Proto, firing up. "Just check the news."

"Enough T.V.!" said Dr. Light, his voice rising. "It is clearly influencing and scaring you."

"Fine! I don't even watch it anymore anyway."

They glared at each other.

Dr. Light was the first to crack. "Proto, is there something you want to talk about?"

But Proto shut him down quickly. "There's nothing to talk about. I don't get this stuff, and what's more importantly, _I don't want to._ Let me live my own life."

Dr. Light sighed and rubbed his temples. It was clear he was exasperated, but wouldn't admit it aloud. "Proto, you are too young to make these decisions—"

"Whatever. I'm not doing it."

"Alright," said Dr. Light, giving in. "I have to go to a conference tomorrow. Just take a break for now, and if you still feel this way, we'll talk more later."

"Fine," responded Proto coolly, pushing his chair away from the worktable and stalking off to his room.

But he stayed bitter and angry, something churning inside like an incoming storm.

* * *

The next night, there was a terrible blizzard. School closings were scrawling along the bottom of the television screen, and Dr. Light called Proto to say he was stuck in the city and couldn't come home until the next day.

Proto watched the snow build from an oblong window (It was predicted they'd get a foot overnight), which prevented him from leaving the laboratory. Then he looked in on his projects in the side laboratory, the physical representations of the monotony of his wasted life. He thought about the two lives he was currently living and how much he hated the one and wished he were only living the other. He wanted to destroy it all, extinguish everything that he had felt forced to be up until this point, like a tidal wave clearing out the trash on a beach so that something new could grow in its place—

He took his scarf and tied it over the bottom half of his face like a mask, then began tearing apart everything he had built in the secondary laboratory, all the weather machines, the mining drones, the marine drones, the maintenance and domestic drones—everything he created from Dr. Light's carefully crafted plans. It felt good, a sense of release as he crushed the machinery apart under his feet like crunching through leaves in the fall.

For once, his conscience was silent. It had made peace with him, and he with it—who he was, who he _really_ was, and his conscience wouldn't hold him back way any longer. Calmness washed over him.

Later, after he had demolished everything, Proto crawled into bed and fell instantly asleep.

* * *

Someone was shaking his shoulder roughly the next morning.

"Proto? Proto? Wake up!"

For a second, Proto was bewildered why Dr. Light was trying to wake him up this early, then he groaned, recalling his actions from the previous night.

"Are you alright?" Dr. Light was asking, his face drawn and anxious in the weak morning light.

"Of course I'm alright, what's wrong?" asked Proto, playing dumb.

"Someone has broken in! The laboratory is in shambles. It's quite terrible!"

Proto was trying to care about this, but really just wanted to go back to sleep. "Well, no one was hurt, right?" he asked.

Dr. Light seemed surprised by Proto's reaction. "No…" he said slowly.

"Well, that's what's most important. Things can be replaced."

"I suppose you're right," said Dr. Light. His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a small sigh. "But they destroyed all your work…" he said sadly.

"No problem, I'll rebuild it. It'll be even better than before."

"…You're not mad?"

"Nah."

"Thanks for having such a positive attitude, you really put things in perspective."

"Perhaps we should call the police. Was anything stolen?"

"No. It appears to be just vandalism, yet I'm worried they may have been searching for something. If they had tried to force their way into the security v—never mind. All is well now, we'll just clean up and tighten security around the laboratory." Dr. Light kneaded the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "You can go back to sleep…and try not to worry."

"Sounds good."

Proto rolled over as Dr. Light walked out of his room. His eyes were drooping, and he was just about to drift off when Dr. Light's words sunk in.

Dr. Light was worried that the possible vandal had tried to take something from the security vault.

Puzzled, Proto suddenly felt wide awake. _Why is Dr. Light so worried someone is trying to break into the security vault? What's in there anyway?_

* * *

Proto didn't let his curiosity last long.

He waited for Dr. Light to leave for the city again before entering the security vault the next day. The inside was dark, and quite ominous. It wasn't the most difficult vault he had broken into, yet a shiver of excitement ran down the back of Proto's spine. _I really shouldn't be here._

He took a quick look around. The walls were lined with inset drawers, each labeled with the same project title: _Project Bomber._

 _What the heck is 'Project Bomber'?_ Proto wondered to himself.

He ran his finger down the drawer labels, stopping at _Project Bomber: Official Test Run._ Inside was a VHS tape.

Proto looked around, listening cautiously. Dr. Light wouldn't be back for at least another hour, Pipi was roosting on the roof, and Eddie was powered down in his storage cabinet, which Proto had 'accidentally' moved a file cabinet in front of to ensure Eddie wouldn't turn up unexpectedly and tattle on him for being in the vault.

Proto snuck the tape into the living room as though he were smuggling a stolen valuable, placed it into the VCR, and hit play.

The home footage that appeared on the TV was grainy, the camera set on a tripod at an awkward angle to the subjects present.

Dr. Light and Dr. Wily were facing the camera in a large, garage-like laboratory that Proto didn't recognize. Both looked bright eyed and excited—this clearly was the biggest project yet of their careers. The footage could not be more than a couple years old. Between them stood a powered down robot with forest green armor with black boots. It wore a simple full-coverage helmet like that of a biker, its only feature a simple chevron-shaped visor. Dr. Wily was fixing what looked like a blaster arm to the robot's left elbow, and there was some sort of plasma generator mounted on its chest.

"We've just finished the first prototype robot of Project Bomber," announced Dr. Light to the camera. "The bomber-robot, developed for Civil Defense, is a new, top-secret class of combat robot designed to counter enemy Robot Masters by 'copying' their special abilities via energy drain. With this unique ability, the bomber-robot shall become the ultimate robotic defender of all that is good and just. In a moment, we will conduct his first test run. The bomber-robot will demonstrate the plasma cannon ability at its lowest setting on our dummy Robot Master. Next, he will demonstrate his _Weapon Copy System_ to drain the dummy's preloaded weapon data. If he works, he will just be the first of many."

Behind him, Dr. Wily had finished installing the blaster and stood back to look at his work, tugging one end of his mustache. " _Ja_ , a world of robots," he commented.

"Now for the big moment," said Dr. Light. He pointed the pocket remote Proto had watched him use to activate all of his robots (including himself) at the robot and clicked its red button.

The robot stirred straightening its posture. He rolled the shoulder that ended in a blaster. A single red optic flashed on inside its visor, which swept from side to side, first from Dr. Light, then Dr. Wily, then to the camera itself, like a chaser LED light. Then it turned around on its heel and began marching toward the test dummy.

"It's _working,_ Dr. Light!" whispered Dr. Wily.

The robot halted in front of the test target, lifted its blaster arm, then fired a fully charged blast at the dummy, which exploded. Both Dr. Light and Dr. Wily shielded their faces reflexively with their arms.

"Something must be wrong!" Dr. Light shouted, his face white. "Stop, I command you to stop!"

But the robot continued firing high powered shots at the walls and the ceiling. Smoke and dust billowed into the room and alarms began to blare, yet it remained rooted to the spot, apparently as oblivious to its own self-preservation as it was intent blasting everything in sight. It became completely engulfed in the smoke screen, only the flashes of blue plasma bolts like lightening in a storm cloud giving away its location.

Fortunately for Dr. Wily and Dr. Light, the prototype's efforts were concentrated on its own section of the lab, far away from them.

"He doesn't obey!" cried Dr. Wily over the din of falling rubble.

Suddenly, there was a particularly loud wrenching noise as part of the ceiling caved in. It fell with a resounded thud. A wall of white dust pushed outward like powdered snow from an avalanche, blanketing the screen in whiteness. All was silent, except from the harsh coughing from Dr. Light and Dr. Wily and the emergency alarms still peeling.

As the dust cleared, Dr. Wily was slowly approaching the figure on the ground, his hand outstretched, but even from the grainy film footage it was obvious the bomber-robot had been irreparable—mangled beyond recognition. Dr. Light was reaching out for the camera, then the video cut to static.

"Geez…" Proto breathed.

He ejected the VHS and carried it back to the security vault with a sort of solemn reverence, as though the ghosts of the past still haunted it.

The rest of the files contained research leading up to the creation of the bomber-robot, but Proto's attention was drawn to a large pod on one side of the room which he hadn't noticed before on account it had blended in with the wall. He walked up to the pod and pressed a button on its side.

Its door slid up, revealing a robot.

Proto jumped as though he had discovered a body in a casket. But the robot didn't stir. Recovering from his shock, Proto leaned in for a closer look.

The prone figure wasn't a robot, but an empty suit of armor. It looked like it had never been used—gray titanium skin, red boots, red gauntlets, and a red helmet with a smooth black visor, polished to the point where it was mirror like, bouncing back his curious reflection. The plasma generator and weapon that been mounted on the unstable prototype's chest lay at its feet along side the cylindrical cannon would presumably reside within a completed bomber robot's left gauntlet.

Proto stared at the armor for some time. First the video, now this—

 _Dr. Light...why are you keeping a weapon like this here locked away in your lab?_

Project Bomber had obviously been abandoned after its disastrous test run. Yet working on combat robots seemed so unlike Dr. Light in the first place—not only that, but he had kept the parts, even having witnessed first hand their capability for destruction and mayhem…

Proto took one last glance at the suit before closing the pod, double-checking that everything was back into place, switching off the light, and locking the vault again.

 ** _End of Month 4._**


	6. Chapter 5: Breaking Out

**Chapter 5: Breaking Out**

In the wake of the destruction laboratory, Dr. Light wouldn't let Proto stay alone at night anymore, and rarely even in the day. Proto wondered if Dr. Light suspected him of being the true culprit behind the frustation-enduced rampage (it was rather obvious in his own opinion) but with what seemed to be stubborn blindness, Dr. Light had yet to accuse Proto of any wrongdoing. Still, Dr. Light began keeping closer tabs on the laboratory inventory, and annoying was noticing more disappearances.

Proto, who was perfectly aware that the only one stealing from Dr. Light's laboratory was himself and Dr. Wily, had a hard time pretending to be concerned about any of this. He spent his days with Dr. Light full on acting. No more angry out bursts, nothing to reveal his true thoughts, lying was second nature to him now. His newly discovered talents in deception and stealth proved as useful in blending in at Dr. Light's laboratory as they were in crime.

The only thing that interested him in the laboratory was the cryptic Project Bomber. It was strange to think that Dr. Light was keeping secrets of his own. Proto had yet to bring it up—he didn't want to fess up to poking around in the off-limits sections of Dr. Light's laboratory, no matter which excuse he could come up with.

And (though he wasn't sure why) part of him didn't want Dr. Light to know that Proto knew what lay hidden in the vault.

* * *

Dr. Wily continued giving Proto a steady stream of grunt work. When not doing crimes, Dr. Wily tasked him with lowly errands, still determined for Proto not to completely enjoy himself. But Proto never complained; he sensed he was worming his way into Dr. Wily's confidences—or as close as one could get, anyway.

One day, Proto carried an armful of plastic bags filled with printer toner, grid paper, and ball point pens with purple ink back down into the underground laboratory. Dr. Wily was covered head to foot plastic coveralls spray painting a stenciled design on the side of the large flying machine's skull-shaped armor, just below its temple. Finishing the last coat, he ripped off the stencil to reveal a golden 'Dr. W' on a purple circle, like some sort of logo on the bone-white armor. An identical design was drying on the opposite side. Dr. Wily set down his paint gun and pulled the face respirator and coverall's hood off his head, his wild gray hair bushing out around his crown. He stalked over to inspect what Proto had brought.

"I told you to get the store brand! It's cheaper!" Dr. Wily growled angrily as he looked inside the first bag.

"Dr. Wily, it's not like I actually _paid_ anyone for this," Proto said lazily, dumping the rest of the office supplies on a wooden crate of ammo cartridges. He tipped a few packets of chewing gum that he had nabbed from the front counter as an extra challenge onto Dr. Wily's desk.

Dr. Wily's eyebrows shot upwards like rockets. "Stop stealing things! You are going to draw attention to yourself."

"Relax…no one's going to catch me, Doc. Besides, I had to make the mission interesting _somehow._ "

Dr. Wily brandished a boney finger at him. "You need to control your compulsions. Your recklessness is bordering on instability."

Proto thought it was ironic that a mad scientist was lecturing _him_ on instability, let alone conspicuousness. For the past few weeks, notices had been taped to Dr. Wily's door by fed up neighbors complaining about the state of his font yard and the commotions coming from inside the house. Proto had to convince Dr. Wily _not_ to test out his more dangerous inventions on them.

"And Light still doesn't suspect a thing?" Dr. Wily asked in a more level tone as he strode toward a wall where his lab coat had been hung.

"No. It's getting kind of weird, almost like he's going out of his way not to notice."

 _"_ Well, you are his golden boy," Dr. Wily said sneeringly.

"That's not something I want!" Proto snapped defensively. He folded his arms and leaned against a tank, gazing at the flying machine in stony silence as Dr. Wily shrugged out of the coverall and threw on his lab coat.

"It's definitely unique. What do you call it?" Proto asked finally, gesturing at the craft.

"The Skullker," answered Dr. Wily shortly, straightening his tie.

The Skullker was clearly Dr. Wily's intended main form of transport. The large massive propeller, painted a deep shade of twilight purple, was quiet relative to its size, allowed for vertical take offs and landings, and could smoothly rotate its carriage in three-hundred-sixty degrees while hovering. It was equipped a massive cannon in its mouth, a tractor beam for stealing, and a fair sized cockpit and fuselage for transporting passengers and goods. These features sacrificed the speed an maneuverability of a plane or jet. Still, Proto was dying to fly it.

Around the Skullker was a dense forest of metal, wires, motors, and assorted circuitry. The laboratory was now so crowded with half completed machinery that some had to be hung from the ceiling by cables.

"Hey Doc…not to slow down your creative genius, but we're kinda running out of room down here," he commented. "You're going to need a second basement if you invent anymore stuff."

"This location is only temporary," Dr. Wily said offhandedly, scanning the junkyard-like mountains of equipment. "I am in the process of scouting out a location for a new base outside of New York."

Proto straightened up. "…You're leaving New York?"

"Of course, I can't stay here with the police nearby and all these nosey neighbors pounding on my door! I need more space, somewhere remote and secure to invent in peace and build my army."

"…Army? What, are you trying to take over New York City?" joked Proto, gesturing up at the large map with amethyst pins that adorned one of the walls.

"Take over New York City? No no no no, nothing so juvenile," Dr. Wily tutted. He strode over to the map and pressed a small round button. The map rolled up like a projector screen, scattering pins. Behind it lay a map of the world, only each continent was shaded purple marked with golden 'Dr. W' emblems like those on the Skullker. "I'm going to take over… _the world."_

Proto blinked up at the map, taking in the finely inked details of invasion plans and key structures, flashing back to all the weaponry and supplies he had stolen over the last month, and realizing Dr. Wily was dead serious. "That's _awesome_."

"Indeed!" said Dr. Wily, seemingly pleased that Proto was quick on the uptake and not noticing the note of amusement in Proto's voice. He paced back and forth in front of the map with his arms behind his back. "This is the future, my empire—a world controlled by robots. But I need resources to continue my work," he stopped pacing, and turned to face Proto, his eyes bulging dangerously. " _You_ need to stop taking stupid chances with shoplifting bubble gum!"

"It was tutti frutti sugar-free dental gum."

"Whatever!" said Dr. Wily, slamming his fists against a drafting desk so hard that a cup of pens scattered and a stack of blueprints cascaded to floor. "This is my life's work. It is more important to me than anything, and I won't let anyone get in the way of it, including you," he fumed, scooping up his fallen notes.

"Fair enough. But…you'll need all the help you can get. And I'm a robot, so I have every right to be in this rebellion that I had no idea was being planned until a minute ago, right?"

Dr. Wily put a skull-shaped pewter paperweight over his blueprints and folded his arms, glaring at Proto. "Robots who are part of my plans need to obey me, which you do not. Besides, you are a domestic robot. What do you know about fighting? I'm letting you tag along against my better judgement—"

"You mean because I'll definitely spill the beans if you don't," said Proto with a innocent shrug.

Dr. Wily brandished a finger at him. "You have been useful to me thus far, but one more slip up—"

"Alright, alright! I get the picture," Proto interrupted, holding up his hands. "I'll be more careful, Doc. _Promise._ "

Proto was feeling a bit put out. Taking over the world sounded fun—but Dr. Wily was right, he didn't know _anything_ about fighting. He crossed the laboratory to take a closer look at the map, then over at the blueprints which contained different designs for war machines.

"You know a lot about military stuff like invasions and sieges, huh?" he murmured thoughtfully.

Dr. Wily gave him a scandalized look. "I know a lot about _everything."_

"Right, of course, Wily. You're certainly smarter than me," said Proto smoothly. It never hurt to stoke Dr. Wily's ego. "…What can you tell me about Project Bomber?"

Dr. Wily wheeled around to face him, his face hawklike. "How do you know about that?"

Proto explained what he had seen in the security vault.

"He kept it then…" Dr. Wily breathed darkly. He walked over to a lab table and sat down with his head bowed, steepling his fingers, the lines in his face starkly shadowed in the light of a hanging bulb.

"So you and Dr. Light created the bomber robot?" Proto prompted, sliding into a seat opposite of him.

"We worked together on it." A hungry expression entered Dr. Wily's eyes. "It was a completely new series of robots unseen by the world before: a combat specialist with the ability to temporarily steal the special abilities of Robot Masters." Dr. Wily dropped his hands to the table and shrugged. "I took the lead on the robot's A.I., while Dr. Light designed the weapon copy system, his only worthwhile invention, which he kept secret. He wouldn't trust anyone but himself with the plans, even I, his assistant, never laid eyes on it." Dr. Wily gave a disdainful snort. "Pompous windbag, serves him right that it all came crashing down upon him."

"Yeah, It was like the bomber-bot didn't have consciousness," Proto couldn't help but break in at this point. What he had witnessed in the video tape had been disturbing. For a robot to be mindless and out of control of like that… "And it—he, I mean—didn't survive?"

For once, sadness flashed in the light blue eyes of Dr. Wily's intense, furious face. "It would have been like trying to glue back together a vase after it had been smashed into a million pieces. We were lucky to recover the plasma cannon and generator. If only we had built him titanium armor to begin with, then we might have been able to save him…But Tom thought it best to wait until after the first successful test run before working on armor…well, you saw how that went."

"…What was wrong with the prototype bomber?"

Dr. Wily looked as though Proto had insulted his first born child—or more accurately, his first built robot. "Nothing was wrong with him!"

"Well...what did Dr. Light say about it?"

"Faulty guidance system. But I designed it myself. Light could never prove it…" Fire glinted in Dr. Wily's eyes, his hands balling up into fists. "And he was the last one to work on it…he was always jealous of my genius, he probably sabotaged it!"

Privately, Proto thought Dr. Light was the last person to sabotage a robot's guidance system even in the improbable event he _had_ been jealous. Regardless, a faulty guidance system fit the symptoms the prototype had exhibited.

"He quit Civil Defense work after that," Dr. Wily continued. "He even destroyed the plans for Project Bomber without consulting me, claimed they were too dangerous. Without the plans, the weapon copy system cannot be replicated…but, if the original plasma cannon still exists…" Dr. Wily grinned broadly at Proto. He looked quite mad with the incandescent light-bulb shining off his eyes. "You could steal that weapon. Then I could build a new bomber robot and begin the next phase."

After seeing how Dr. Wily's last bomber robot reacted to his activation, Proto was extremely hesitant about this idea. The last thing they needed was another haywire bomber robot blasting apart their cramped hideout. He leaned back in his chair. "I dunno, Doc…if I steal the bomber weapon, Dr. Light will _definitely_ know it went missing, and I don't think he'll let it slide like the other stuff. It'll blow our cover."

Dr. Wily scowled at him. It was the first time Proto had turned down a request to steal something, and he could tell Dr. Wily didn't like this. "Later, then. It's not as if I _really_ need it anyway," he added pettily, shoving his chair away from the table with a scrape. "I can build my own robots! And they will be twice as good as whatever that dunderhead could come up with."

Proto somehow doubted this. Unlike the rest of Dr. Light's work, Project Bomber has been the only thing Dr. Wily hadn't outright criticized.

* * *

His mind spinning with the revelation that Dr. Wily was plotting to take over the world from within his basement, Proto set out with a new determination to prove his worth as a criminal, taking on more dangerous jobs for Rojenko and Bullet Phil and reaping better spoils for Dr. Wily.

Some of the heists he came up with himself. One night he staked out a jewelry store until it closed for the night, its velvet display cases glittering with precious metals and gems in the street light.

At the corner stood two human officers and two robo-officers (police presence had gone up in the wealthier sections of the city ever since Proto had begun raiding them). The human officers were facing each other and discussing the NBA game they had watched last night, clearly expecting a quiet night. The robo-officers stood next to them, their black eyes scanning the streets in an automatic, routine fashion.

Proto studied the robo-officers. They were tall, had strong steel armor the color of lead, plain round helmets like those worn in the army, gray angular faces with hinged jaws, and blaster arms. There was no way Proto could get past them without being seen. He could cause a distraction, but that was just too _boring_. He'd already mastered robberies like this, they no longer held any risk or thrill. Another idea had crossed his mind, something he wanted to try.

He strolled a block down the street, picking a pair of goggles and a gray helmet embossed with blue curling flames off a moped parked outside of a seedy bar blaring metal music. Tying his scarf around the bottom of his face, he returned to the police officers with his hands in his pockets.

"Hello officers," he sang out brightly.

One of the human officers glanced over at him. "Hello there. Can I help you?" he asked, eyeing Proto's mismatched getup suspiciously.

"Yeah, I want to steal that shiny stuff in the window behind you, but you're kinda in the way."

The police officers chuckled uncertainly.

"Um…?"

"I think he's serious…?"

"…Can I taser him?"

Deciding the police officers were close to working it out, Proto lunged at one of the human officers, ripping his electro-neutralizer pulse pistol from his holster. He stunned both humans, who crumpled into the wide planter filled with withered flowers. Then he faced the robo-officers, twirling the pistol around his finger.

"I'll ditch the gun to make this fair," said Proto, tossing the weapon into a sewer.

Both robo-officers trained their blasters on him. "Hands up you inebriated punk, we don't fight humans."

"But I'm a robot, the most powerful robot ever built. After all, could a human do _this?"_

He darted forward as though launched from a cannon.

But the robo-officer proved to be quite solid, like tackling a pillar of steel. Proto tumbled backward onto the frost-crusted sidewalk.

"Hey…I think this guy really is a robot," said the robo-officer in slight surprise.

"It must be a rogue android. Let's deactivate it and locate its manufacturer."

Proto was not deterred. He bounded back to his feet, then resumed the attack, an end of his scarf trailing behind him as he darted around them like a crow egging on a couple of guard dogs. Flashes of red light grazed the collar of his coat as he dodged narrowly through criss crossing laser fire, which were lancing the surrounding brick buildings and sending rubble into the street.

"You dumb drones are causing more damage then I am," Proto quipped as a laser streaked by him with a rush of heat before incinerating a neon martini sign.

The robo-officers were large…but oafish and predictable as giant wind-up toys. Within a few minutes of careful observation, Proto figured out how to overpower them. Grabbing one of the robo-officer's blaster arms, he pulled with all his might just as it fired, changing its target. The laser blasted a hole through the other robo-officer, who fell against a parked car, smashing its hood like a tin can and setting off a piercing alarm. Then Proto rolled on the ground as the second robo-officer ran at him, tripping him. Proto scrambled to his feet, ripping the robo-officer's helmet and plunging a fist into its exposed cognition circuitry. The robo-officer gave a violent jerk, then fell to the ground.

Stuffing his pockets with strings of pearls and diamond rings, Proto pelted back down the sidewalk, skidding slightly on an icy patch. He could hear the approach of sirens like baying hounds on a blood scent, spurring him on. He grinned, ditched the biker helmet in a dumpster then blended in with the crowd of late night shoppers.

His first fight. It had been fun, and not so hard after all.

He couldn't wait to fight again.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Proto continued to pick fights with the police, security drones, even other criminal robots, creating a flood of reports on the news, much to Dr. Wily's consternation.

"You going to build too much of a reputation!" Dr. Wily chided angrily after a drone factory robbery had lead to an altercation with twenty robo-officers.

"Eh, so what?" Proto said airily. "No one _really_ knows who's doing all this, I've been careful!"

"You need to be _more_ careful," Dr. Wily warned icily.

But Proto ignored him. In fact, he decided to head back to see what progress he could make with the Syndicate, which seemed to be the biggest fish in New York City. Dressed in the brown suit Dr. Wily had given him, he returned alone to the austere white-tiled lobby of Fulmen Financial.

Smith was at the desk again. As he looked up from his computer, he froze at the sight of Proto, giving him a long look over his rimless glasses.

"Hey…me again, Eric MacDonald or whatever I said. Just checking in if you had thought over what I said last time I was here," said Proto, strolling up to the edge of Smith's desk.

"I'm trying to decide if you should be killed," Smith said shortly.

"What!" said Proto, pretending to recoil with hurt. "You guys barely know me!"

"Turning up here again is not a good impression."

"C'mon, Wily has some very interesting ideas, we just need funding. Give us a chance."

Smith narrowed his eyes. "I've looked you up and cannot find any associated criminal records—"

"Aw, you looked me up? I thought you didn't like me."

"However, your associate Wily has a trail of chaotic crime sprees that spans miles," Smith cut over him with a sharp glare.

"That's a good thing, right?"

Smith drummed the fingers of a red gloved hand against the desk impatiently. "The Syndicate is not interested in consorting with mad scientist like Wily nor hiring someone as young as you."

"Why not? They hired you."

"I had the right connections," Smith said smugly. "And I am clearly more intelligent than you."

"You might be surprised."

"I doubt it. You're not cut out for this type of work."

"Oh, I bet I could fit in around here…Maybe I like gambling. Blackjack, poker, bingo…you know, all that stuff."

"You must like gambling, coming here is like playing Russian Roulette," retorted Smith. His voice lowered. "You keep playing around with gangsters and crooks, you will be sorry."

"Is that a threat?" asked Proto, amused.

"It's a promise. Be a good boy and go home."

Proto thought this advice was sanctimonious and condescending. He wondered how old Smith took him for. Smith himself did not look very old, and though Proto was technically younger than most humans, he still did not like being talked down to.

"Look, Smith, as cool as it is spending time with you, what I'd really like is to talk to your boss."

Smith scoffed. "There is no way in hell I'm letting you talk to my boss."

Proto ignored Smith as he strutted past his desk toward the elevator.

"What are you doing?"

"Goin' up."

"Did you not understand me?"

"No, I heard you, I just don't give a shit."

Proto stopped in front of the elevator doors—but then remembered that the elevator had no call buttons or any other way for him to enter. Smith was watching him with a raised brow.

"That's okay, I'll wait," said Proto. He strode past Smith's desk unabashedly and sat down on one of the boxy white chairs that adorned the lobby.

"This isn't a waiting room," Smith said crossly, his glasses flashing in the light.

"Looks like one," said Proto as he crossed his arms behind his head as though lounging on a beach chair. He smiled insolently at Smith.

Smith gave him a long piercing look, then, as if relenting, picked up the phone receiver on his desk and began dialing a number with slow deliberation.

"Calling for your boss?" Proto asked, pleased.

"I'm calling the police."

Proto's smile vanished. "Fine. But I'll be back," he said, storming out of the lobby.

* * *

Unfortunately, Proto couldn't spend his entire time hanging around the underground or working for Dr. Wily. At the end of every successful crime, he still had to return to Dr. Light's laboratory.

Proto kept his time short and sweet with Dr. Light—bright, casual conversation filled with funny quips seemed the best way to keep his temper in check as he worked through whatever mind-numbingly dull projects Dr. Light had for him. Unfortunately, the break in still seemed to weigh heavily on Dr. Light's mind, and he hovered nervously in the laboratory as Proto worked.

One afternoon, Proto was rushing out the door, eager to leave the laboratory behind again.

Dr. Light trailed him down the hallway in a suffocatingly dog-like way. "Oh, are you heading out already?" he asked, watching Proto zip up his coat.

"Yeah, Dr. Wily wants to get some field testing in before dark," he lied, looping his scarf around his neck. "We've been making progress, but I got a long way to go if I'm ever to be half the scientist you are."

"Hmm. You've never said you wanted to be a scientist before."

Proto shrugged. "Isn't that what you want? For me to be more like you?" he asked lightly, throwing Dr. Light a sidelong look.

"I've never thought you should be more like me," said Dr. Light slowly. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his lab coat, and he lowered his gaze towards his shoes. "If anything, I should be more like you. I've grown old and so wrapped up in my own work and principles that I've forgotten what it was like when I was younger. You have a fresh perspective of the world—clever, determined, good natured, and open-minded."

Tugging on a pair of boots, Proto said nothing. He felt with a stab of annoyance this conversation was coming too late to have any real impression. Who ever wanted to hear some after school special monologue about what one generation could learn from the other? It just didn't matter to him.

Then the other shoe dropped.

"Proto, I was thinking…maybe you should spend more time at home instead of going to Dr. Wily's all the time. I hardly see you anymore, and there is something I'd like to show you."

Proto's insides seized up as though turned to concrete, his pulsar pulse quickening. "Uh…the thing is Doc, Dr. Wily and I still in the middle of that aerospace engineering project," he said casually, concealing his panic as he straightened up.

"I thought you didn't like going over there."

Proto placed a hand on the doorknob. "Well, you know, it's like you always say…the best path to success is through hard work and dedication. I can't just spend my time on all the fun projects around here."

Dr. Light was frowning at him. Proto had a funny feeling Dr. Light wanted to insist that Proto stay in the laboratory, but he said, "Proto…you can do what you want to."

"Great. What I want is finish up my project for Dr. Wily. I've put too much work into it to give it up now."

"If means so much to you, then you should finish your work," Dr. Light relented. "But we will talk soon, I hope? It's very important."

"Sure, definitely," lied Proto, secretly determined to put off whatever Dr. Light wanted to talk about forever. As he stepped out into the cold February air, he had a funny premonition that Dr. Light's new project meant Proto would be seeing a lot less of Dr. Wily and the Underground and a lot more of Dr. Light's conical laboratory and its stuffy domestic inventions, his time of which he had been attempting to whittle down to nothing for weeks.

* * *

Later that day, Proto was walking down the docks, which smelled like dead fish. Slate gray water slapped against the harbor walls and the sides of barges as an unpleasant sleet fell from the sky.

He had spent the afternoon stealing documents from a government facility that he planned to trade to a mobster (supposedly a friend of an associate of a connection of a acquaintance that always came through, according to Bullet Phil) for super steel, an alloy prized in the construction of robot armor.

The grizzled-faced mobster waited for him by one of the piers, the collar of his garbadine overcoat turned up against the frigid ocean spray, accompanied by a steel-framed robot drone with bettle-like black optics and corroded joints that squeaked slightly as it moved.

"All there, just like I promised," said Proto, dropping the armored case at his feet. "And no one's the wiser."

He waited for the mobster to initiate the exchange, a process which Proto felt he had done a million times, but the mobster was watching him suspiciously.

"Hmmph, you're pretty good at this, kid," the mobster growled in a hoarse voice. "Too good."

"Heh…thanks?" said Proto. "Now about the super steel—"

But the grizzled-faced mobster had nodded to the steel-framed robot, who had raised an arm. There was a flash of light, and _bang!_

Proto was thrown back into a pile of wooden lobster traps, which splintered underneath him like dry kindling. He could heard someone scoop up the armored case, then a pair of footsteps scampering down the opposite end of the docks and disappearing.

Proto staggered to his feet, wincing at a sharp pain in his right side. He looked down at his coat, spotting a round tear. Underneath lay a neat hole just under his ribcage like a tunnel carved out by a drill bit. It smarted to the touch.

 _Damn…_

A siren rose through the chilly night.

Proto needed to get out of here, quickly—but not the way the mobsters had went, who had presumably left what they thought was a human to bleed out on the salty concrete. He raced down the other side, his hair dripping into his eyes with sleet, clutching his side with one arm.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Proto was sitting on a supply crate in the back of a van with his shirt rolled up. Dr. Wily stooped over him, extracting the bullet with a pair of tongs before spot fixing the damage.

"Hurry…I'm supposed to be back at Light's lab in an hour," Proto urged him. He couldn't believe it. Shot by a _drone._ He could have dodged—had it not meant compromising his human identity. It was so frustrating pretending to be human!

"I can't fix this in an hour! I do not have the appropriate materials for patching up synthetic skin! You'll just have to cover it up for now," hissed Dr. Wily angrily. "Why were you shot at?"

"I dunno! The guy said I did the job 'too well' or some bullshit," said Proto, tugging his shirt back down over his middle. "The underground is gunning for us now…they must be scared, or they wouldn't have sent a hitman to do me in, which means we just gotta get tougher. Show them who's boss, and they'll back down."

Dr. Wily's nostrils flared furiously. "No! This can't happen again. How am I going to explain to Tom where you are getting gun shot damage from?"

"Let _me_ worry about that, I'm the one being shot at!"

"You are too reckless! I knew something like this would happen eventually, you have started too many fights, built too much of a reputation!" A shadow passed over Dr. Wily's face. He was throwing his tools back into a red toolbox. "It's over, Proto. I can't have you spoiling my plans."

"What? It can't be over," Proto sputtered, sitting up straighter. There was no way he was quitting now to go back to his boring life at Dr. Light's laboratory. He'd rather get shot again. "I can handle this. I just—need a better weapon." He was thinking furiously, but the answer came to him in a sudden thunderbolt of inspiration. _Of course…_ "Rebuild me."

"…What?"

"Rebuild me. I want to be a Robot Master—" Proto paused, an even better idea stirring in his mind. "No, wait—I'll steal the Project Bomber stuff from the laboratory. Then you can rebuild me as a bomber robot."

Dr. Wily was silent for a moment, then scoffed. "You? A bomber robot?"

"Why not?"

"Because you're a domestic robot built to be a lab assistant. A bomber robot is designed for combat."

"I know I'm not built to be a fighting robot...but I could be. My systems can be adjusted. That suit is even my size—"

"It would be a complete waste on a robot like you."

"I'm your partner, Wily," said Proto, dropping his voice. "I do all your dirty work, and I do it better than any other robot ever can, and you know it. But I need to be upgraded into a stronger robot. You want to have a strong partner, right? Just think, a bomber robot at your side, the most powerful robot ever—better than anything Dr. Light has or ever will have, and _you_ can take all the credit for that—it'll be your turn in the spotlight."

Dr. Wily was watching him sharply. Proto could tell whatever other counterarguments he had were fading as he took in in Proto's words. Hunger was entering his eyes again, as though picturing visions of conquest and destruction committed by his new bomber robot—committed by _Proto._

Proto smiled at him. "I'll settle things with Light tonight."

* * *

Proto crept through Dr. Light's house silent as shadow. It was strange how peaceful it seemed at night, with nothing but moonlight lighting up the furniture. He could almost say it felt quaint, but perhaps that feeling stemmed from the fact that Proto knew he'd never have to look at any of this again.

He gathered all of his possessions—mostly clothing Dr. Light had given him, and built a pile in the backyard which he promptly set on fire. The fire burnt reluctantly in the foot of snow, producing a lot of steam, and would likely smother itself soon, but Proto was not too concerned—the remnants of his belongings were already turning to curling ashes.

Something was blocking his way as he reinterred the sliding back door. Proto looked down into Eddie's ping-pong eyes, which were lidded suspiciously.

"Why have you been sneaking around?" Eddie squealed. "Eddie is not letting you through until you answer me!"

"Eddie, you're a quarter of my size and have no arms. Move."

"No! You're up to something, and I'm going to tell Dr. L—"

Eddie never finished, for Proto pounced on him. There was a brief scuffle before Proto succeeded in powering Eddie down. Then, opening the top of his helmet, Proto ejected Eddie's memory chips and crushed them into a fine powder.

"Sorry, can't leave behind any evidence," he said lightly as he left Eddie slumped over on the doormat, his flip top head bowed and his eyes closed.

Proto slipped into the main laboratory next. In the darkness, he could see the curtained shapes of some of the projects Dr. Light was working on, perhaps the one he had wanted to show Proto—but Proto walked past without even looking. There was only one thing in the laboratory that interested him now.

He entered the security vault, quickly stifling a new alarm that Dr. Light had recently put into place, then opened the pod containing the bomber armor.

Proto changed out of his clothes and into the gray titanium skin, which fit snuggly around his body like a wetsuit. Then he slid on the red boots, the gauntlets, and finally, the helmet. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the visor, a new sense of calmness overtook him. He liked the feeling of the weight of the armor and the visor over his face like a mask. As he had hoped, it all fit him perfectly, like it was part of him, like it had always been part of him, the part that he had been hiding for so long.

He walked out of the security vault back to the main laboratory and looked at the wall-mounted full length mirror. He looked completely different, serious and powerful, like a soldier. Yet it seemed unlike him, something was missing…

He rifled through the tangle of clothing he had stuffed hastily in a duffle bag with the plasma cannon and generator and extricated the yellow scarf. Throwing it casually around his shoulders, one end trailing down his back, he looked back at his reflection, smirking. Then, zipping shut the duffle bag, Proto sat on the edge of the lab table he had been activated on and waited.

It didn't take long. Perhaps alarmed by the small fire burning in the backyard, Proto heard the frantic slippered footfalls of Dr. Light running down the steps.

"I'm warning you, if you come quietly—" came Dr. Light's voice from down the hall. He rounded the corner into the laboratory, carrying a frying pan aloft as though ready to swing, then stopped dead in his tracks.

"Hey Doc," said Proto swinging his legs casually.

A shaft of moonlight was shining on Dr. Light's face. He had dropped the frying plan to the floor with a clatter that rang off the laboratory's egg-like interior. "Proto—" he began, his eyes sweeping over the armor Proto was wearing, "What is the meaning all of this?"

"It's been me this whole time—I'm the one who's been breaking into your lab, and I'm the one who's been on the news."

Dr. Light stared, color draining from his face as though he were about to be sick. Proto knew Dr. Light was trying to reconcile in his head the android he had created with the robot that stood before him now. Finally, Dr. Light gave a small, resigned nod, though Proto wasn't sure he had really accepted it yet. "When did it start?" he asked quietly.

Proto shrugged.

Dr. Light continued to stare at Proto's visored face, his ghost-white face becoming set in determination. "Proto, whatever is wrong, we can fix this. It's not too late—"

He took a few steps forward, but Proto held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't be a chump, Dr. Light. I'm stealing from you. I have no intention on ever returning to the lab—I'm going away forever, to do some things that would probably put you in jail if they were ever traced back to you. So, don't tell anyone you built me…you know I won't say anything."

Dr. Light's shoulders shook. "But…I'm your creator," he pleaded in barely more than a whisper.

"I never asked you to be."

Dr. Light's eyes widened. They looked glassy and wet.

"Call the police. Report that you've seen a red armored robot with a yellow scarf break into your laboratory."

"No."

"Suit yourself."

Tucking the duffle bag under an arm, Proto hopped off the lab table then leaped on top Dr. Light's supercomputer, his new titanium boots landing with a light clang. He pushed one of the giant oblong windows open with a palm of his hand, cold winter air drifting inside. Proto gazed into the darkness and paused.

"Hey Doc?" he said without looking back. "Just forget I ever existed. It'll be better for everyone this way."

Then he jumped.

* * *

The abandoned subway tunnel had once connected the Underground to the city. It was silent except for the steady _drip drip_ of melted ice from the street above and the scampering of small feet. Overrun with rats, its tracks flooded with freezing stagnant water, the tunnel now greatly resembled a sewer system. Not an ideal location for Dr. Wily's makeshift laboratory—but it suited him for now while he cleared out his old location.

A generator had been lugged down to the driest and cleanest spot the subway had to offer, an old brick platform, which was harshly lit by the sort of flood lights normally used as outdoor security lighting. The eyes of rats shone like green glow-in-the-dark stars from the shadows as they looked out at the intruders curiously.

Proto lay on a lab bench, the inner circuitry on both his his left arm and chest exposed. Dr. Wily was prepping his work space with the various tools and instruments needed to complete the two-hour operation. Finally, Dr. Wily shuffled over, carrying the silvery plasma generator that would soon reside in Proto's chest as his new power source.

"You know Proto…once I convert your systems to a bomber robot, there is no going back to being a lab assistant," he said gravely. "You're committing yourself to a life of crime as my robot servant."

 _"_ _Second-in-command,_ you mean," corrected Proto.

Dr. Wily looked at him for a moment, considering, weighing his worth, then nodded.

Proto settled back on the lab table. "I can hardly wait."

 _ **End of Month 5**_


	7. The Finale: Building an Army

**The Finale: Building an Army**

 **Month 6—**

The red robot dangled upside down from the top railing of a sixty-seven story skyscraper, sun glinting off his visor. Looking down from the dizzying height, the buildings seemed to taper into a point below him, the streets thin ribbons with moving specks for cars.

He held a pair of binoculars to his visor, zooming in through the gaps in the buildings. An armored van was cruising down Park Street. The cabin had two guards, both armed, and was surrounded by a police escort, a helicopter flying overhead.

"Proto Man!" crackled a harsh voice in his communicator. "Hurry up! You must not let your target get away!"

"On it, Doc."

Smiling, Proto Man tucked the binoculars into the folds of his scarf and dropped off the building, the skyscraper windows flashing past him in a river of reflected sunlight. He could feel the rush of air going over him in the free fall, the square tops of shorter skyscrapers rising like floating tiles—

With a solid crunching noise, Proto Man crashed through the roof of the van. It lurched from side to side like a wounded animal, its tires squealing as it shuddered to a halt.

The two guards wrenched around in their seat to face him.

"It's him!" one shouted, pointing the end of his laser nozzle at Proto Man's face.

"Oh, don't mind me…" said Proto Man, scooping up a locked case from the checkered steel floor. Then he tumbled out the back of the car van as the two guards opened fire.

Outside, the police escort had swarmed around the van, making a barricade of flashing lights. At least sixty robo-officers were exiting in a chorus of opening doors.

"Capture him!" shouted one of the robo-officers.

"Forget capturing him, destroy him!" barked one of the human captains, his face a furious shade of red.

A tangled lattice of lasers issued from the robo-officers into the space around the armored van. The helicopter joined in, showering bullets that bounced off the concrete like hail.

But no one could hit Proto Man.

He darted unharmed through the ranks of robo-officers as though made of smoke, ripping off limbs, crushing blasters, and punching holes through their armor. Turning his visored face toward the helicopter, he raised an arm and fired twice. Electric blue bolts of plasma hit the helicopter, destroying its mounted gun and snapping one of its propeller blades short. It began to sink earthward like a maple seed.

"Stop him, stop him!" the captain screamed at his fallen troops, jumping up and down. He gnashed his teeth at Proto Man and fired with his pistol.

Proto Man deflected the bullet into a newspaper box with the titanium armor of his forearm. Then, case in hand, he leaped toward the helicopter and grabbed hold of its landing skids (the helicopter lurched violently in the air, its blades scratching the marble facade of a bank) and swung to the other side of the police barricade like an acrobat.

Laser fire streaked the street on either side of him as he ran. He could hear car doors slamming and the pounding of footsteps behind him as the police clambered to catch up. He darted into a side street, his pursuers not far behind, but by the time they rounded the corner, Proto Man had disappeared.

* * *

A few blocks away, the Skullker descended into an empty building lot with a soft whirring noise like the low growl of a dragon. Proto Man jumped into the open hatch on its back, then it sped off from the city.

"I hope you didn't pull any foolish stunts," growled Dr. Wily as Proto Man sauntered into the cockpit, dropping the case next to him. "You are still adjusting to your new powers."

"Relax! I'm a natural at this," answered Proto Man, sliding into the co-pilot's chair. He felt like a schmuck, but he couldn't stop smiling. It had been the same after every mission since he had became a bomber robot. "Can I pilot?"

It was an unnecessary request, Dr. Wily always preferred Proto Man to drive, leaving himself more room to think, rant, and plot from the passenger seat. Dr. Wily switched over control of the Skullker. He then snatched up the case and unlatched its lid. The case contained glistening tubes of rare and dangerous compounds that Dr. Wily planned to experiment with. Proto Man could tell by the grin that split his face that Dr. Wily was pleased.

A few minutes later, they were back in the Underground.

"Be careful how you park!" Dr. Wily chided sharply as Proto Man piloted the Skullker into a snug space underneath an overpass.

"Hey, I could land this thing on a dime," said Proto Man confidently as the Skullker settled down with a light bump, its great propeller whooshing out a small cloud of dust. "But you know, jets would be so much faster."

Dr. Wily sniffed, his mustache twitching. "Jets would be more dangerous, Proto, and impractical for the city streets! Besides, we would need to raid military installations for things like that, or at least an airport."

"Alright, I'm down," said Proto Man eagerly. "When can we start?"

Dr. Wily unbuckled his seat belt, scooping up the case of chemicals. "Patience. We need to build my army before we are ready for a raid of that scale."

"Fine…I'll keep an eye out for recruits," said Proto Man grumbled. "So…what's next to steal?"

* * *

One of the first things Dr. Wily had said after he had finished rebuilding Proto in the abandoned subway laboratory was, "Lose the scarf."

"What? No, I like it," said Proto, watching his left hand disappear and reappear as he changed his blaster arm back and forth from a plasma cannon.

"It doesn't fit the image of a powerful bomber robot. It looks goofy. Even humans who look your age do not wear scarves like that unless they are going skiing."

"I'm not exactly a trend follower."

"Fine! It'll probably get burned up in your first laser fight anyway. I hope you are not too attached to it."

From that moment on, Proto's eyes were rarely seen again. While armored, he wore his helmet with the visor down. If he had to don human clothing, he dressed in a bomber jacket and constantly wore a pair of mirrored aviators. He also tinted his hair an interesting shade of copper, something Dr. Wily rolled his eyes about but didn't comment on. Proto had changed, become wilder—the only thing he kept from his old life was the name he had given himself, though he now became more commonly referred to as _Proto Man._

After living with Dr. Wily for several weeks, Proto Man had picked up on many of Dr. Wily's habits—like that if he ever ate or drank, it was only plain white toast with instant coffee, and Proto Man had never seen him sleep. Between the two of them, Proto Man wondered who was more robot, and who was more human.

"So what brought about the whole 'take over the world' thing? Midlife crisis?" Proto Man had asked one day. He was working on small handgun while Dr. Wily worked on an attack-bot within the laboratory.

"There is no one on earth with a mind equal to mine!" said Dr. Wily emphatically waving a power screwdriver. "It is my right! The rest of mankind is lazy, stupid, unimaginative! The fools always laughed at my ideas, my work, _me_! I was just something comical to them!"

"Well, from their point of view some of the mad science _might_ seem a little crazy," Proto Man pointed out fairly.

Dr. Wily crossed over to a work table, picking up a loose power-core with wires sticking out of it like a water bug. He paused. "Let them make fun of me, let them laugh! Nobody knows the genius I am! Ever since I was a little boy the other children never understood me. I never even had toys like the other kids."

Proto Man's smile fell. "Oh."

Dr. Wily crossed back over to the robot, slamming the power core in its chest. "And now I'll build all the toys I want, _robot toys,_ und I shall control them!"

Then Dr. Wily had laughed a loud cackle that echoed down the dripping subway tunnel, startling several nests of rats.

* * *

After stealing the compounds from the armored van, Dr. Wily's next mission lead Proto Man to a somewhat grim looking government research and development facility comprised of many small, windowless brick buildings surrounded by razor-wire fences. There was a tip floating around on the Underground that a new type of plutonium power cell had been designed here, and Dr. Wily wanted Proto Man to steal some.

Proto Man found sneaking into the facility at three in the morning, scaring off late night workers, and taking care of security rather routine—he'd done stuff like this many times now, even before he had his armor.

But Proto Man wasn't the only robot with his eyes on the plutonium power cells.

Just as Proto Man approached the laboratory housing them, a Robot Master stepped out from behind a storage shed. He was armored mostly in the gray color of unfinished robot casing with a red breastplate and knee guards, his twin blasters embellished with curling flames, reminding Proto Man strongly of decals on a hotrod. The top of his slivery helmet was shaped like a propane fire pit, bright orange flames roaring out like a fiery crown, the snow glittering in its light.

The Robot Master narrowed his red eyes at him. "You're that bot I've seen on the news—the Red Raider!" he growled through a hinged mouth.

"'Red Raider?' Cool. Most people just call me Proto Man. And you are…?"

"Fire Man." He flexed his arms, two blinding columns of fire roaring in the air like flamethrowers. "I'm here for the plutonium power cells. …What are you here for?"

"Same. What do you want plutonium-based power cells for? No offense…but I don't think handling that kind of substance is the best idea for you," he said, eyeing Fire Man's semi translucent flames.

"Worth a lot on the black market, and I saw them first so you can back off!"

"Tell you what…we're both mature bots. Let's fight for it. If you so much as singe my scarf, you can have them."

Fire Man scoffed. "Singe your scarf? That piece of yellow cotton dangling down your back? Too easy, I'd take that dare without stakes."

He raised a blaster and discharged fireballs the size of trash cans. Proto Man dodged every single one, the fire burning clean paths through the snowy grounds and blackening the grass beneath it. He returned fire only once, his electric blue plasma a shining contrast against the flames.

"Ow!" Fire Man howled, stumbling back. "So, you're a good shot with your plasma power? Well let's see how you can handle THIS!"

He brought both cannons side-by-side and fired in a long, continuous stream. The combined jet of fire shot for thirty feet. Meanwhile, Fire Man was laughing maniacally, eyes popping, turning slowly on the spot like a sprinkler spewing flames. "AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

The air temperature had went from twenty-five degrees to something like a sauna, great drifts of snow melting into slushy heaps, outdoor AC units shriveling into foul-smelling pools of gray plastic, and the brick buildings were becoming scorched, their roofs smoking.

Proto Man decided that he had had enough of this. He charged forward like a bullet, grabbing one of Fire Man's arms, and stole his weapon using _Weapon Copy._

The crown of flames on Fire Man's head like a gas stove suddenly cutting out, plunging him in darkness, his blasters clicking like burnt out lighters.

"Hey, what gives?!"

"Looking for this?"

Proto Man pointed his blaster into the night sky and fired _Fire Storm._ A bright hue of marigold orange bloomed out of his cannon.

"Sorry, had to do that before you burned down the entire compound."

Fire Man recoiled in shock as though witnessing dark sorcery. "What are you? Some kinda special forces robot?"

"Nah, just your friendly neighborhood criminal."

Fire Man began backing away, his arms up in surrender. "Alright, alright! You can keep the power cells! Just let me go!"

"Relax! You're a rogue robot, right? The guy who built me is looking for more robots. Why don't we grab the power cells together, then you can come back with me and work for him? Then it's a win-win."

Fire Man dropped his arms, scrutinizing Proto Man. "Your creator must be a great scientist if he can build a bot like you…are you sure he'd recruit me?"

"Sure, the more the merrier."

"Fantastic! I'm a walking fire hazard so it's been hard to find work, even on the Underground. The cops are after me for burning down a petting zoo, orphanage, library, an ice rink, playground, a carpet warehouse, and a charity benefit for the blue footed dodo while trying to steal scratchers out of vending machine. I had a winning ticket, but that burnt up too. Why does human stuff have to be so flammable?"

Proto Man wasn't sure what he thought of the resume. "Uh…"

They could hear the ear-splitting wail of sirens creeping closer—not police sirens, a different sort Proto Man was not as familiar with.

Fire Man narrowed his eyes at the sound. "We better go…my mortal nemesis is coming: _the firemen."_

 _"_ Yeah, you kinda messed up this facility," put in Proto Man, gazing around at several sizable bon-fires crackling cheerfully. Together, they grabbed a few radiation-proof cases filled with power cells, then hoofed it out of the facility as the first fire engine halted at the front gate.

* * *

"So…what's with the scarf?" Fire Man asked Proto Man as they recharged with energy cans while sitting on a subway curb inside one of the tunnels, the flames from Fire Man's head glittering off the icy water flooding the tracks below (Dr. Wily was holed up in his laboratory, wanting peace and quiet in a 'smoke-free working environment').

"Well, you know. It's cold out," answered Proto Man, shrugging. "Hey Fire Man…do you know of any other Robot Masters in the Underground? We're trying to build up an army. Wily's put me in charge of recruiting."

"Well, there's a couple of rogue bots I know who might be interested. Or you could steal one of the industrial robots working at Pfister Mining & Manufacturing," replied Fire Man. He was holding his energy can carefully between the ends of his two blasters. "But you might want to keep the 'army' on the down low, even amongst us robots."

"…How come?"

"The Syndicate. I hear they're worse on the west coast, but they're trying to establish a stronghold here too, and succeeding—pushing out all other gangs, especially the up-and-coming ones."

"Pff, so? We're not scared of them," said Proto Man, taking a sip of his energy can.

"You best be careful around them," Fire Man warned. "They'll hunt down a robot they think has become too dangerous. I met Pharaoh Man once. You know, the bot that works at that casino? Barely made it out in one piece. I got this because of him."

He turned his back to Proto Man. A long blistered track ran through his red armor, like the trail left behind when a spoon tip had been dragged through butter.

"…Can't you just buff that out?"

"Yeah, well, I haven't gotten around to it," said Fire Man, turning back around with a huff, the flames on his head briefly flickering red. "Anyways, he's real powerful is all I'm trying to say. Knocked me through the front and back of a nearby building with one shot."

"This Pharaoh Man sounds like he'd be useful on our side. How many Syndicate Robot Masters are in New York?"

"Just two, counting Pharaoh Man. Don't know anything about the other one. As far as I know, no one who has seen him is still around to tell the tale."

Proto Man thought back to Fulmen Financial and the rumors of its Robot Master.

"—But I wouldn't try to steal a Syndicate robot if I were you," Fire Man cautioned. "They're miles above anything anyone else has created. I know you're strong, but it'll be your death. Ask Wily, he'll tell you—especially since they got it out for him and all."

Proto Man looked at Fire Man sharply. "What do you mean?"

"They put the word out that anyone who does business with Wily is an enemy of the Syndicate."

"Oh really…" Proto Man said in a dark voice.

This was a bit of a blow. Though Proto Man didn't take the Syndicate seriously, the rest of the Underground did. For the past few weeks, Dr. Wily's criminal connections had been vanishing like ice cubes on a stove. It had become difficult getting things off the black market. Then he remembered how Joe Striker had been shot in cold blood, and how Bullet Phil had sworn on his grandmother's grave that he hadn't meant to set Joe up, that something funny was going on.

Proto Man drained his energy can, tossed it into the flooded tracks with a splash, then stood up. "I'm going to have a little talk with them, see what's going on."

He turned on his heel and stalked toward the concrete stairs that lead to street level.

"There's no point!" Fire Man called after him. "They won't work with other criminal associations. And good luck fighting them, they're worse than cops."

Proto Man waved a hand dismissively. "The guy at the front desk knows me. I got an in…sorta."

* * *

"…Again?" Smith asked flatly.

Proto Man had just barged back into the lobby of Fulmen Financial, dressed in the guise of the human Smith was familiar with. "I want some answers. I've heard your gang has declared anyone in the Underground who associates with Wily as an enemy to the Syndicate. Now no one will work with us like they used to, and some are even getting hostile. About two months ago, someone set me up at the docks when I was doing a job for Wily. I almost died. I kinda see that as the Syndicate's fault."

"You might be right, but why would we take responsibility for the repercussions of such a declaration?" said Smith, smiling icily.

"That's harsh."

"Hardly my problem."

"Look, it's a big criminal Underground. Why not share it with Wily? Let me talk it over with your boss."

"You lack understanding of the nature of my organization…and organized crime in general," Smith added snidely.

Proto Man gave a helpless shrug. "Then tell your boss this means war, and we're not scared of you."

"That's your folly, not mine."

The lobby doors banged open suddenly. Smith frowned, looking over Proto Man's shoulder at the intrusion.

A large, burly man had strode into the lobby. "Back off, punk, or I'll blow your head off," he growled at Proto Man as he pushed roughly past.

Proto Man raised his brows at Smith, but Smith waved Proto Man quickly away like an irksome fly, his attention on the man. Curious, Proto Man took a few steps back to watch.

The man was looking at Smith like a piece of meat he was about to club with a tenderizer. He was built like a bodybuilder, wore an olive green homburg hat and a waistcoat adorned with a gold chain. He might not have looked out of place at a political event—had it not been for the brass knuckles on his fists.

"Your boss has no business edging in on my gang's turf. The big apple's our city!"

"Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about," said Smith in a crisp, even tone. He had resumed the act of the clueless receptionist.

"Don't pull that horse shit on me!" the gangster thundered, slamming his meaty hands so hard on the desk that the brass knuckles made an indent. Smith hadn't even flinched, but wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "I've been down to that casino of yours, trying to talk to Blackjack Tommy and Louie Roulette! But that King Tut weirdo threw me out, said he didn't want a scene in front of the other guests. Told me to take it up _here_."

Smith's eyes were becoming flat. Something about his manner seemed to be withdrawing into itself, but whether this was a result of fear or something else, Proto Man couldn't tell. "I see. You must be Big Buck, leader of the Good Boys Guild?"

"So you have heard of my gang!" growled Big Buck, his knuckles popping. He leered at Smith with his lower jaw jutting out.

"I really wish I hadn't," Smith replied with unconcealed disgust as though unwillingly examining maggoty roadkill.

"Don't act all high-and-mighty with me. It's not your business what our gang does behind closed doors or how we have our fun, your boss doesn't get to make all the rules! Not in _my_ town! Now take me to your boss before I pound your face until you'll never look the same again, just like any other middleman who tries to get in my way. Then I'll sic my boys on you."

He looked like he meant it. Big Buck moved in aggressively on Smith.

Smith held his ground. " _Sit down_ ," he snapped in a surprisingly commanding way. But he wasn't talking to Big Buck, he was talking to Proto Man, who had taken a step forward.

Proto Man hesitated. The gang leader looked like he could easily reach over the desk and snap Smith's neck. But Smith appeared to have recognized he was in over his head. With another sharp glance at Proto Man, he got up from the desk and beckoned to Big Buck, leading him toward the door with no handle. At Smith's touch, the door unbolted itself and swung inward silently. Proto Man craned his head, trying to look inside, but as soon as Smith and the gang leader had crossed the threshold it closed with a sharp _thud_ , bolting shut.

Proto Man listened to the stillness of the lobby, wondering what was happening on the other side of the door. A moment later he heard a short, muffled scream of agony. Proto Man frowned at the door. So that was it then, Smith must have met his end. Yet, a few minutes later, Smith returned alone, straightening his tie.

Smith noticed Proto Man's gaze as he sat back down at the desk. "Can I help you?"

"That man…"

"What man?" Smith asked blankly.

A chill ran down Proto Man's spine.

"I…think I'm going to get going."

Smith said nothing. He was watching Proto Man with the same still expression of a statue.

Proto Man hurried out of the lobby, scratching his head. He'd be back—but next time with his armor and blaster ready.

 **Month 7—**

Carved out of one of the northern Appalachians hills of New York lay one of Pfister Mining & Manufacturing's largest triconium mines, somewhat like a giant termite hill. The ore itself was trapped as small specs within larger rocks and not worth stealing, but Proto Man wasn't here for the ore.

Bomb Man was not difficult to find; his location given away by resounding explosions that rattled pebbles down the cliffside and shot plumes of dust into the air. He was humming something by Captain Fallout and the Atom Smashers _,_ but stopped and turned around as Proto Man entered the mine tunnel he was working in.

Though it was hard to tell under the film of brown dust he was currently covered in, Bomb Man had a large sphere-shaped body the color of coal with limbs of construction orange and yellow. An orange-fin adorned his yellow helmetless head like a mohawk.

"Hey uh…how did you get in here?" he asked, frowning dubiously at Proto Man.

"Snuck in. I've come to liberate you from your servitude of the humans and their greedy corporate ways."

Bomb Man squinted at him, wiping an orange fist over his forehead. "Liberate me from my…what's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, set you free to join the robot revolution on behalf of Dr. Wily."

"Aren't you that crazy bot that's been involved in police shootouts every week?" Bomb Man's forehead wrinkled. "Wait…are you trying to _steal_ me?"

 _"_ Uh…kinda?"

"'Kinda?' You're ' _kinda'_ stealing me…?"

"Look, you're making this awkward."

"Sorry, I have strict safety protocols about the usage of my _Hyper Bombs,_ " Bomb Man stated stubbornly. "'Fraid I'm going to have to blow you up like a soda bottle and report you to the foreman. Just letting you know since you seem like a nice bot and all."

With that, he threw the _Hyper Bomb._ Though Proto Man dodged left, the force of the explosion seemed to push him back into the mountain side like a strong gust of wind. Bomb Man was smirking at him, and began overhand-lobbing more bombs, each exploding with a deafening _BANG_ like a cannon firing, sheets of solid rock crashing to the mine floor.

Unlike Fire Man, Bomb Man's fighting strategy was a bit more reserved. Bomb Man likely knew the mine like the back of his hand, and if Proto Man wasn't careful, he'd become trapped or worse within the mine while Bomb Man went for help.

Proto Man darted in circles around Bomb Man, pelting him on all sides with plasma fire like an airplane attacking a stationary target. He was faster, and though Bomb Man had better defenses, Proto Man was slowly wearing them down as Bomb Man attempted to rotate quickly on his short legs, his face screwed up in concentration.

Finally, his armor battered and scuffed, Bomb Man teetered on his feet, then fell forward with a small crash that scattered rubble.

"Night night," said Proto Man as he stood over Bomb Man, his blaster arm returning to a hand. The mine creaked ominously around them, clouds of dust drifting hazily through the tunnel.

Above his head, Proto Man suddenly noticed a security camera he hadn't seen on one of the rafters. It had been recording the whole time. Proto Man smiled at it, then hauled Bomb Man away.

* * *

Having successfully recruited two Robot Masters, Proto Man felt he was on a roll. Yet Dr. Wily didn't think they had enough robots yet to start a raid. He claimed something had come up, and they would need to wait until June.

" _June?_ " Proto Man groaned. "That's almost two months away! What could possibly be worth waiting for until then?"

"We need more Robot Masters and a permanent base of operation," Dr. Wily said smoothly. "But don't worry, I still have work for you."

He kept Proto Man busy with missions to obtain raw materials, other scientist's work and inventions, rare alloys, illegal weaponry and ammo, and specialized robotic parts, which they kept stockpiled under tarps in the abandoned subway tunnel as Dr. Wily scouted out locations for his future laboratory. He was relying on Proto Man to steal much more than he used to—not that Proto Man minded, but he'd rather steal for fun than necessity. New York City's black market had completely shut itself off from them out of fear of retaliation from the Syndicate. If this lasted much longer, Dr. Wily would never get enough materials to start an invasion.

Proto Man decided to take things into his own hands. It was time to take care of their only annoying obstacle in the Underground: the Syndicate.

* * *

Clad fully in armor, Proto Man strolled confidently into Fulmen Financial for the last time.

"I think I have an appointment?" he asked as he stopped before the front desk, smiling.

Smith rolled back from the desk, his eyes staring at Proto Man with something like shock and astonishment.

Proto Man dropped his voice. "Look, I won't hurt you…just take me to whoever makes decisions around here and you can go."

Smith gave a mute nod. He walked quickly toward the handleless door. Proto Man stalked behind him, fully aware this was the same route that Smith had taken the Good Boys Guild gang leader during his last visit.

The bolted door lead into a blank hallway that seemed to lead deeper into the building. Proto Man saw Smith whisk around a bend up ahead. Proto Man darted after him, skidding around the corner. Smith was nowhere in sight, but the hallway ended in a door similar to the heavy handleless door in the lobby, and it stood open.

On the other side was a small chamber, finished from floor to ceiling in steel plating and lit only with a single low-wattage, reddish lamp like a dark room, its dim light not quite reaching the corners of the chamber. The only features Proto Man could make out were a door that appeared to lead outside, and another plain door that stood ajar, light coming from inside.

Proto Man drew a blaster. "…Smith?" he called, edging inside the steel-lined room.

The heavy door behind him slammed shut, and at the same time, Proto Man experienced a sudden, blinding pain. The next thing he was aware of, he was face down on the steel floor, a current of electricity raking through every circuit like millions of knives stabbing him over and over again. He wanted to twist in agony, to scream, but the electricity was holding him locked as rigid as a board.

The current suddenly cut off. The pain faded, but it left an unpleasant prickling sensation in his otherwise paralyzed body.

 _Get up!_ Proto Man thought urgently, but his arms and legs just wouldn't respond.

Light foot falls approached from the shadows, then a golden boot rolled him over onto his back.

A Robot Master crouched next to him. He wore red and black armor, a lightning bolt design etched on his chest plate and forearms, strands of electricity dancing between the fingers of his red-gloved hand.

Proto Man felt a tugging sensation as his helmet was pulled off and set next to him on the steel flooring.

"You're the poorly dressed idiot who keeps bothering me," commented the Robot Master in a familiar voice. He smiled serenely, the light reflecting off his helmet's golden harlequin mask, his pale eyes scanning Proto Man. "If I had known you were a robot, I would have done this a long time ago…I warned you, yet you were too stupid to heed me."

"So your name really wasn't Smith."

"Elec Man."

"Proto Man."

Normal functionality was beginning to seep back into Proto Man's body. He tried to sit up, but a bolt of electricity jumped from Elec Man's hands and struck him down again, the pain just as bad the second time. Elec Man watched Proto Man twitch on the floor in a detached sort of way as though he wouldn't lower himself to the level of sympathy.

"That's…unnecessary," Proto Man got out through clenched teeth as the pain died again. "Where's your boss?"

"Not here. This is just one of many Syndicate controlled offices. Working at the front desk…I am in plain sight, yet invisible. I can watch all the humans and robots coming in and out, monitor their actions, make evaluations, eliminate liabilities, yet they pay no real attention to me. I thought you were just another thrill-seeking petty thief, too small to be a threat, too stupid to last long among real criminals. Yet, you're really a military-grade combat robot, the show-off who's been causing so much trouble over the last two months," he said, examining Proto Man's blaster arm. "If it weren't for the self-destructive steak in your programming, I'd classify you as exceptionally dangerous."

"Hey, I know we haven't been on the best of terms, but I honestly had no clue you weren't human. Let's start over and talk about this, bot-to-bot."

A band of electricity was traveling up the gap between Elec Man's forefinger and thumb with a hair-raising hum.

"Bargaining or pleas for mercy will not work on me, so don't waste my time. Who built you? What's your purpose? Are there more of you?"

"Dr. Wily, to commit the biggest crimes in history, and yes," Proto Man answered quickly.

"Don't lie."

A brief course of electricity shot through Proto Man like a pike impaling him from head to toe.

"No robot has ever fooled me when impersonating a human," Elec Man continued in a soft, deadly whisper. "Only Syndicate androids like me can pass that well. Your creator must be very talented to create an android _and_ combat robot of the same caliber as one of us, but they can't be Wily."

Proto Man remained silent.

With a lazy flick of his hand, Elec Man shocked him with another strand of electricity, just below the threshold that would overload his circuits. Proto Man jerked with a yelp of pain, his eyes squeezing shut.

"I can probably guess," Elec Man said smugly. "Or I can torture you until your guidance system fails and you tell me everything like an off-the-shelf drone."

"Is that what happened to that pushy gangster?" Proto Man asked quietly.

"Each case is different, and I had my orders," Elec Man said with indifferent crypticness.

He raised both hands, electricity building in his palms.

"Most robots cannot withstand a _Thunder Beam_ for very long, _"_ Elec Man continued as the soft buzzing of electricity began to fill Proto Man's ears. "But if you're lucky, my creator may think you're useful enough to salvage, and next time you're powered on, you'll obey a new boss."

Proto Man realized Elec Man was reaching for his head, and could do nothing to back away. Marshaling what little energy he had left, Proto Man waited tensely for Elec Man's hands to be dangerously close, then caught Elec Man by the wrist and copied his weapon.

The electricity died from Elec Man's hands instantly, and his face faltered as a sudden wave of weariness disoriented him. He yanked his arm out of Proto Man's grasp and sat back, shaking his head as though trying to clear it.

Proto Man smirked, feeling power return to his limbs with the weapon energy of _Thunder Beam._ As he pulled himself up into a crouching position, electricity arced through his fingers with a strange warmth, like fiery feathers tracing patterns on his skin.

"Nice try, but I think I'll continue being my own boss."

Elec Man stared at Proto Man's hands, then bolted toward the door leading outside. He was fast, moving nearly like a blur, but he could not outrun his own weapon. With a cry, he fell on his back, electricity snaking in and out of his circuits.

Proto Man quickly reclaimed his helmet and placed it back on his head in relief. Then, their positions reversed, Proto Man knelt next to Elec Man, smiling.

"Can't let you run away to any Syndicate pals and spill all my secrets…Now, what was it you were saying just a minute ago? That you'd shock me until my guidance system gave out, and if I was _lucky_ , I'd be reprogrammed, right?" Proto Man asked smoothly. "That's cold, Elec Man. Well, you know what they say: better you than me."

Elec Man glared through narrowed eyes as Proto Man placed his hands over the ear receptors of his helmet.

"Sorry, this is going to hurt a lot…I know from experience."

Then he shocked Elec Man until the energy of the _Thunder Beam_ had completely depleted _,_ shortly after Elec Man had stopped screaming. Then Proto Man rose gingerly to his feet, every part of him smarting.

He was aware how quiet the steel-walled room was suddenly. He couldn't linger here long. Out of curiosity, he went through the door that had been left ajar, blaster drawn and alert. He needn't have bothered, it only lead to a small room which was furnished something like an office. Next to a a large supercomputer (which was password locked) lay a briefcase half filled with poker chips and stacks of hundred dollar bills, and a hastily folded pile of clothing with a pair of rimless glasses sitting on top—the black suit Elec Man must have quickly changed out of before ambushing Proto Man. After briefly searching the room for anything else of value and finding nothing, Proto Man stuffed Elec Man's suit in with the bills and left the office.

Briefcase in one hand, he hauled Elec Man over the other shoulder and pushed the open the outside door, which lead to a deserted back alley. Proto Man lifted his communicator. "Hey Doc, got another recruit for you…if he's not dead."

* * *

Elec Man survived the _Thunder Beam_ with no real lasting damage save that his memory chips were completely scrambled. Despite this, his mind wasn't completely gone—he still had his programmed defaults, he was aware that he had been stolen (but wasn't able to tell Proto Man or Dr. Wily anything more about the Syndicate then what they had already known) and even after being reprogrammed displayed signs of repressed contempt against his new employers.

Still, Elec Man proved himself as an invaluable addition. While Fire Man and Bomb Man excelled at brute force, Elec Man was good at computers even by robot standards and was helping Dr. Wily handle some of the trickier technical details of remaining a criminal at large, (such as managing assets and balancing a checkbook).

Dr. Wily expected his Robot Masters to obey him and not question his authority, so Proto Man was largely in charge of fielding their concerns (though Proto Man didn't like doing the managerial stuff his title as 'second-in-command' technically entailed).

"So…Wily hasn't been very specific in his objectives," Fire Man confided. He had just returned to the subway laboratory after conducting a few small-time pyro-related intimidation stunts for Dr. Wily. "Are we taking over New York City, or the entire U.S.?"

"The world, actually," answered Proto Man. He was lying on top of a shed-sized storage locker, tossing an energy can up and down like a baseball.

"Huh? Just the four of us?" asked Fire Man.

"Five, counting Wily."

"Uh…"

"What do we need all this purple paint for?" asked Bomb Man curiously, who was tabulating inventory inside the storage locker, his voice muffled. "Seems like we'd save a lot of money if we cut back on this and stocked up on stuff like nitroglycerine or nitrocellulose instead."

"No can do, we gotta brand our stuff," answered Proto Man. "That way, if anyone tries to copy us, we can sue them."

Bomb Man poked his head out to stare Proto Man for a long time. "…Kay," he said, turning back to the inventory.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Bomb Man," said Elec Man in his haughty, prideful way as he typed on a small computer he had built himself. "This isn't a real criminal organization anyway. If Wily hadn't stolen robots like us, he'd be up to his neck in debt with mobsters and lucky if he lived long enough to see prison."

"I just like blowing stuff up," Bomb Man replied, shrugging. "I guess I don't care who I do that for, but that could be the reprogramming talking."

"I joined willingly…should I have held out for something better?" whispered Fire Man to Bomb Man and Elec Man, looking concerned.

"Glad to see you all bonding over something," said Proto Man. He sat up, stretched, then leapt off the storage locker. "Elec Man, can I talk to you?"

Elec Man looked up from his computer to Proto Man, rolled his eyes, then stood up.

They headed down an outer ledges of one of the subway tunnels, their metal footfalls echoing off the tubular walls. Elec Man walked on the wall-facing side. He hated Dr. Wily's subway lair, and always stood well away from the flooded tracks (Proto Man had considered pushing him into the water for fun many times, but had so far resisted the impulse).

"So…no back-talking Dr. Wily," said Proto Man.

"That wasn't back talking, that was honesty."

"Well Dr. Wily is not going to like that. Any more comments like that, you bring them up to me, kay?"

"I can't believe I have to listen to you two…"

"What difference does it make? You did criminal stuff at your old job, now you'll do criminal stuff for us."

"It's not about what we do, it's about why we do it. This is gross incompetence. I was programmed to weed out criminals like you."

"Yeah, I know how much you'd enjoy going back to torturing and executing for the Syndicate—"

"I don't enjoy torturing and executing—" shot back Elec Man, firing up.

"Good, because we're not hurting anyone."

"…Exactly what kind of organization is this?"

"The best one, way better than where you came from, though I won't hold that against you…let me prove it to you. What makes you happy? Go ahead, ask for anything."

"To see you and Wily dead or behind bars."

"'Kay…what's number two on your list?"

"Don't patronize me," Elec Man said crossly.

* * *

One of the ways Elec Man was most useful was in espionage and thieving in broad daylight. In some ways, he was better than Proto Man at this. He blended in perfectly with humanity, and could get into even the most guarded institutions without drawing attention. Proto Man found this form of stealing _extremely boring,_ still, he couldn't help but be impressed with the results. Elec Man had managed to not only secure a massive order of super steel for Dr. Wily (tripling his current supply), but arrange for it to be delivered to a discrete location outside the city, all completely off the records.

"Here's a list of things I require," Elec Man told Proto Man a few days later after their conversation, handing Proto Man a list as though he were an office gofer.

Proto Man ignored Elec Man's tone. "Oh, like more human suits and stuff? Alright, sure." Proto Man paused, looking over the list. "Wait, These cost _how_ much?"

"Is that an issue for you?"

"I suppose not. It'll give me an excuse to rob another bank."

"What do you mean rob a bank? Doesn't Wily have money?"

"Nope!" said Proto Man proudly.

It was clear Elec Man's opinion of Dr. Wily was sinking even further.

"Say, you're a smart bot," said Proto Man.

Elec Man shot him the testy look of someone who was not easily won over by compliments.

"Wily's sending you into the city again to steal all the corporate data being stored at Executive Enterprises, right? I'll tag along. Might learn stuff. …What?" he added, for Elec Man was rolling his eyes.

"Don't bother. No android can pass as a human as well as a Syndicate android. You'd just be in the way."

This was a common refrain from Elec Man—he considered himself far superior to everyone else in Dr. Wily's army, as though they were just tin toys assembled by a group of agitated monkeys.

For no other purpose than to prove a point, Proto Man pulled his helmet off and cast Elec Man a sidelong look. It was unmistakable Elec was impressed, for his lips parted slightly in surprise then be turned his back to him stiffly. "Fine, whatever. Not like I can really tell you not to come."

"That's technically true!"

Proto Man rummaged through a chest storing all his human belongings and detangled the brown suit Dr. Wily had given him, which he began to slip on over his gray titanium skin after shaking off a few moths.

After firmly ignoring Proto Man's appearance for a solid minute, Elec Man finally looked back at Proto Man and found things to criticize.

"That came from a mall," he said, pointing at the suit.

Proto Man honestly had no idea where the suit came from. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked, putting on a pair of aviators.

"It doesn't fit you."

"What does that matter?"

"You look like a tool. Your creator obviously did not teach you how to dress."

 _Well, Dr. Light wasn't a mobster,_ Proto Man thought wryly. He found this entire conversation amusing. "Um. Okay. You obviously know what you're talking about. I'll play along, let's make a stop at the suit store or wherever before we break into Executive Enterprises."

An hour later, Proto Man was dressed in a charcoal colored suit that fit a bit snugger than the brown one. "Gee, real pockets and everything!" he said brightly.

Elec Man was kneading his forehead like a human having a migraine. He himself was dressed in the black suit he had worn at Fulmen Financial, the rimless glasses on perched on his nose.

"How do I look?"

"Good enough for now. Just don't embarrass me."

"Aw, Elec Man...I'd never do that."

At Executive Enterprises, Elec Man showed Proto Man how to sneak in past the front desk, through restricted areas, hacking into secured safes—all in plain sight.

Then, on the way out, Proto Man tripped every single alarm.

* * *

After that fiasco (which ended with them high-tailing it from the police only to lie low in an upperclass bar with business professionals who were too busy to give them a second glance) Elec Man kept a close eye on Proto Man. They were riding back toward the underground in a cab, Elec Man's expression was blank, yet he gave Proto Man sharp looks out of the corner of his eye. It was how a fighter looked at a rival, trying to ascertain their secrets and weaknesses.

He was silent for a time, but what Elec Man said next surprised Proto Man.

"You're not programmed to follow Wily's orders."

It was a statement, bold as though carved in stone, though whispered so their cab driver, who was humming tunelessly, could not hear.

"What are you talking about? I follow his orders," said Proto Man flippantly.

"But you don't have to. You also sleep, like a human."

Proto Man didn't like where this conversation was going. "You know what they say, thinking can get you in trouble," he said warningly.

Elec Man shook his head, looking out the window. "Fine, but don't pretend like I'm an idiot."

 **Month 8—**

Now that they had recruited three Robot Masters and his growing supply of goods was booming, Dr. Wily's subway laboratory had become officially crowded. It was time to move to his permanent location.

They traveled several hours out of New York, past rivers and fields of wheat until the land turned a reddish-brown and formed striped amorphous shapes reaching into the sky— badlands, completely uninhabited except for cacti and desert wildlife.

Within these badlands lay an abandoned amusement park, tumble weeds rolling mournfully through its overgrown paths—and perched precariously on a canyon was a cathedral-sized building with domed turrets and a skull-shaped facade with horns jutting out sideways like a demon.

"This is the one, huh?" asked Proto Man as he, Dr. Wily, and the Robot Masters stepped out of the Skullker onto the hot sandy ground.

"I call it Skull Fortress," said Dr. Wily, holding a hand up against the desert sun as he gazed up at the construct as though it was the Sistine Chapel.

The Robot Masters had a different opinion on the new premises. When Dr. Wily went back inside the Skullker to grab a toolkit, they began whispering amongst themselves.

"What's up with him and skulls?" asked Fire Man.

"Construction's kinda shoddy," commented Bomb Man.

"This is the most idiotic thing yet," said Elec Man, shaking his head.

The Robot Masters looked over at Proto Man.

"Proto Man, it's impossible to hide a fortress like this—" began Bomb Man.

"Eh, don't worry about it. We've already taken care of all physical records of this place, and Wily's installed a cloaking-grid-shield-thingy that'll make it impossible for outsiders to find us."

Fire Man blinked, Bomb Man was scratching his head, and Elec Man's arms were folded as he watched Proto Man with flat eyes.

"Uh, I mean, we haven't even looked at other spots yet," continued Bomb Man, shrugging. "Like abandoned mines, mountain caves, maybe another underground lair—"

"What are you robots talking about?" Dr. Wily asked sharply. The Robot Masters all snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. "I didn't reprogram you to stand around and gossip! Get to work!"

Dr. Wily stalked off toward Skull Fortress, muttering darkly.

"I'll burn down the surrounding buildings," said Fire Man.

"I'll level the concrete stuff," chimed in Bomb Man.

"And I'll go over its property claims to make sure this place is _really_ off the map," said Elec Man dryly.

"Nice, teamwork," said Proto Man, giving them a thumbs up.

Bomb Man set to demolishing the surrounding buildings with his bombs while Fire Man, laughing wildly, aimed his twin blasters at the unfinished amusement park structures and set them ablaze.

Elec Man looked over at Proto Man, his arms still folded. "Can Wily's shield really hide us when that redneck is creating a smoke column that can be seen for miles?"

"Dunno. It's actually really impressive what Wily can do with science, you shouldn't be so down on him."

Elec Man looked back at Skull Fortress. "Whatever. It all sounds like bullshit to me."

* * *

They spent the rest of the month settling into Dr. Wily's new abode. Despite the Robot Master's misgivings, no one else had found them yet. They were miles away form the nearest humans and the striped badlands were picturesque in a way Proto Man had never experienced before in nature, almost as though he were on another planet. All in all, Skull Fortress was turning into a pretty cool hideout.

Proto Man leaned against a supercomputer, watching Dr. Wily at work on one of his inventions that he called 'the dream-wave transmitter.' The new laboratory had a rather ominous feeling with its dim lighting, constant hum of bulky computer terminals, array of spy equipment lining the walls, and odd assortment of mad science inventions lying on worktables.

"Well, it's June," Proto Man called over, restless. "We got our base. …You going to let me in on what else we've been waiting for before the real action starts?"

Dr. Wily stepped away from the strange device to face Proto Man. "I see you haven't been paying attention to what Light has been up to," he said with the air of someone holding onto a juicy secret.

"Uh…no," said Proto Man. Honestly, it had been a while since he had thought about Dr. Light. His time at Dr. Light's laboratory was fading away into an unpleasant dream that he tried not to think about. If Dr. Light had tried to make contact, Proto Man would never know. Life had moved on, and Proto Man couldn't imagine being happier.

"Well, he has been busy since our departure! I've been monitoring his new work contracts—he's created three new Robot Masters!"

"Really? Good for him," said Proto Man, who couldn't care less. "All the same…it'd be a shame to leave those poor Robot Masters in the service of humans."

"My thoughts precisely!" said Dr. Wily, grinning like a shark as he held up the protocol-disruptor.

* * *

It was a beautiful night. The night sky was a deep shade of sapphire, fireflies' lights were winking in and out, frogs chirping from a nearby creek, and the grass was a lush green carpet underfoot.

"The three robots are in the next room," Dr. Wily hissed, pointing toward the smooth outer wall of the laboratory.

Proto Man nodded, lifting his weapon and taking aim.

 ** _The Beginning_**


End file.
